My Name is Draco Malfoy… I Think
by mooncalf07
Summary: A boy, waking up in a car park on a wet summer night. A girl, hating him from before she saw him. His memory, driven away by pain and sorrow. Her feelings, challenged by his trust and reliance. A story, travelling from angst to humour and back again.
1. Memories

**Author's Notes:**

This chapter has been edited to include new plot information. You have been warned.

* * *

Hermione walked slowly down the street, her head bowed and shoulders hunched against the falling rain. Dull grey buildings loomed through clouds of drizzle, and the sun was only a distant memory. The weather matched her mood perfectly.

As her feet wandered aimlessly along empty streets, she thought wistfully of Harry's arrival at the Weasley's that day. She imagined their joyful reunion, everyone sitting down and eating together, magic weaving itself naturally into their actions and conversations. She shook her head to dispel the image, raindrops flying from her mane of bushy hair. She didn't like to admit it to herself, but she much preferred school to home. At school she had friends, fascinating classes (at least in her opinion), and excitement was always close by; sometimes, she reflected, too close. The truth was, she looked forward a lot more to her return to school than she did to the summer holidays.

Guilt struck her suddenly. How could she think about her home and her family like that? She did love her parents, of course she did, but sometimes they just didn't…understand. Their discomfort at the mere mention of anything magical was so obvious, she sometimes wondered if they really were as supportive of her new life as they would have her believe.

Hermione shivered. Thinking like that would not help. A feeling of isolation swept over her. She had no friends here — she had drifted away from anyone she had been friends with before Hogwarts. Everyone was distant now. Half seemed to think she was a bit odd and the rest that she was snobby. She supposed she didn't really make an effort to be friendly, but Muggles just seemed so... boring... after magical people. She couldn't exactly chat with them about the new spell she'd learnt, and likewise whatever interest she had once had in Muggle sports had long since vanished. Muggle boys suddenly seemed a lot less interesting and attractive.

Her mind sprang onto a related topic, one that always came up when she thought of boys or love: Ron. Almost every day, she regretted telling him that this wasn't time, that they could wait until after the war. Yet the moment she took the quill into her hand to write him a letter telling him she had changed her mind, all the reasons against it came flooding back. War didn't make a good backdrop for relationships. Her time should be spent helping to locate the Horcruxes. War often led to whirlwind relationships, without thought for the consequences. She could not deny the truth of these reasons, and always she put down the pen before she got past _Dear Ron_.

Ron hadn't been very happy when she first told him this, on that last day of Hogwarts. He had hardly spoken to on the long trip back on the Hogwarts Express, and she hadn't gotten even one letter from him yet...

A sudden sound interrupted her musings. She stopped dead, listening hard over her own racing heart. Paranoia, the constant companion of most witches and wizards these days, spread suspicious tendrils through her brain. Could it be a Death Eater? Someone out to get a close friend of Harry's? Yet this sound didn't seem threatening. It sounded so familiar, like someone... crying?

Curious despite herself, she looked around the corner. A desolate car park met her eyes, with only one battered vehicle remaining in the rain-soaked lot. Two dying trees huddled towards the back, and Hermione could just make out a dark shape beneath them. She took a step closer and felt the bottom fall out of her world.

Draco Malfoy crouched beneath the dripping branches, head in his hands as he rocked back and forth. His sobs tugged unexpectedly at her heart with their raw expression of pain and fear. Unsure of herself, she hovered a moment too long; he looked up and saw her. Shock and shame chased each other across his face briefly, but next second his features contorted in fury and he whipped out his wand.

Panic screamed through Hermione's nerves, rooting her to the spot, paralysed like a deer in a car's headlights, waiting for the spell that would send her to certain doom...

"_Obliviate_" he screamed hoarsely.

The sound of his voice jolted Hermione back to her senses and she flung herself behind the old car. The spell rebounded off the car window at the same time as her hands hit the tarmac with stinging force. She heard a sharp intake of breath, a muffled thump, and then... an ominous silence.

Heart thudding painfully against her chest, she peered cautiously around the car. Malfoy sprawled, motionless, on the wet tarmac. She crept a little closer, her wand in her hand in case he suddenly leapt up. Stopping a few feet away, she picked up his wand from where it had fallen from his hand when the spell hit him. He still didn't move. A sudden, terrifying thought hit her — what if he was dead? She gazed at him with her heart in her mouth, desperately willing him to show some signs of life, but he remained still. Her worry outgrew her fear and she moved forward and knelt down beside him. She reached in reluctantly to take his pulse, but noticed that his chest was moving slightly as he breathed shallowly.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she stood up, her thoughts spinning wildly in her head. She ran her hands through her soaking hair, oblivious to the rain that pelted down around her. What should she do? Malfoy, a wanted Dark wizard, was lying unconscious at her feet! Should she call the police, or the Order, or…

A sudden groan interrupted her frantic thoughts. Startled, she looked down. Malfoy had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking around, bewildered. He started when saw her, staring at her in obvious bewilderment.

"Who are you?" he asked, rain-slicked brow wrinkling in confusion. Then he paused as a look of dawning horror spread across his face. "Wait a second… who am I?"

Hermione stared at him in shock. "What do you mean, who am…" she trailed off, a similar expression of horror crossing her face as she realised what had happened: Draco Malfoy had obliterated his own memory. Not only the last few hours, days, or even months. His whole life.

For the second time that night, shock rooted her to the spot. Draco Malfoy, the biggest bully and snob in Hogwarts — except that now he didn't know that. All he knew, all six feet of him, was that she was a rather slight girl who was standing above him in a threatening way. Before he had a chance to figure this out, she trained her wand on him.

Malfoy didn't seem to be in a fit state for any sort of calculations, however. He pulled himself upright and groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Grit and dirt covered his usually pristine blond hair, giving it a grey colour, while filthy water trickled down his face, leaving grimy smears behind it.

He looked up at her unexpectedly, and her heart leapt suddenly. If he attacked, what could she do? _Stupid_, she scolded herself, you're the wand with two wands! Just Stun him if he tries anything. She willed herself to calm down, keeping her wand as steady as possible as she kept it aimed at him. His eyes widened, and he leaned slightly away.

"Look, this probably sounds really strange, but do you know who I am?" he asked tentatively, his voice hoarse. "My mind's gone blank. I think — I think I must have hit my head."

"You're… oh, don't you have any idea?" Hermione asked helplessly. He shook his head wordlessly. What was she going to do? Her head spun wildly. She only had one option really. She had to take him home with her and send an owl for help. Her heart sank at the thought of trying to explain to her parents. But what else could she do?

Malfoy was still looking up at her expectantly.

"You'd better come with me." she told him reluctantly. He nodded and she turned to go.

"Aagh!" She whirled around in fright and saw Malfoy kneeling on the wet ground, clutching his arm to him.

"What—"

"Nothing." he interrupted. "My arm hurt for a second, that's a—" His eyes widened suddenly in disbelief as he looked down at his arm. "What the — what the hell?" His voice rose in fear. "What happened to my fingers?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, bewildered. He stepped closer and brandished his left hand at her. A loud gasp escaped her.

"Oh my God," she breathed softly.

His smallest finger and ring finger were gone.

Simply... gone. There was no blood, no scar, no sign to explain the absence. Just a smooth bit of skin where his finger should have been.

"Did you do this?" he cried. He stumbled back, limping for a moment on his right leg.

"Of course not!" Indignation overcame shock, and she gripped her wand tightly at the hostile look in his eyes. "Listen, it's pouring rain. We need to get inside and then we can think about what to do." She prayed that his memory charm had worked completely; otherwise, she was going to have a hard time of it convincing him to trust her, particularly when it was so obvious she didn't trust him.

"All right, then," he said at last. As he jerked his sodden robe over his mutilated hand, a thought struck her. She couldn't walk through a Muggle town with someone dressed in wizard's robes! She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the reassuring touch of a bank note; she would have to run into a shop to buy him some suitable clothes.

"Can you wait here for just a couple of minutes?" she asked, counting her money quickly.

"Where are you going? Why can't I come?" The note of fear in his voice made her look up in surprise. "You are coming back, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm coming back, but you can't come with me. This is a Muggle town," she explained. "Dressed like that, it might not be the best idea."

Unwilling comprehension dawned on his face. "Fine. I'll wait then."

"Don't move from here," she cautioned him as she left, breaking into a run once she was out of his sight.

* * *

He watched as the girl walked quickly away. It wasn't until she'd disappeared that he realised she still hadn't told him his name, or hers for that matter. He sighed in exasperation. It was so annoying having to rely on someone else to tell you about yourself. He concentrated once more, trying to remember something, anything, about his life. But try as he would, the earliest thing in his memory was coming to in this cold, wet car park.

He kicked a stone out of the way in frustration and winced as yet another sharp pain stabbed through his leg. He didn't know why he kept on getting these pains, but they weren't pleasant. He sat on the kerb under some trees, hoping for some shelter from the rain. He was soaked through. He hoped that girl got back soon, or it would take more than a Pepper-Up Potion to get rid of the cold he would get. _A Pepper-Up Potion? What is..._ but the thought faded away, leaving him feeling even more irritated. He hated not remembering anything. Things kept on popping up in his head, like that potion, and he would have no idea where they came from.

His fingers twisted together nervously as he wondered what he should do. The girl didn't seem to have any ill-wishes towards him — she seemed more afraid than anything else. His options were either to wait for her, and follow her wherever she was going, or run away. He drew a hand across his face, sending a sheet of water flying from him. Run away where? He had no idea where he was, who he was, where he should be... nothing. He decided the best thing to do would be to stick with the girl, and if things went bad, he could always make a run for it.

Where had that girl gotten to?

* * *

Hermione hurried down the darkening streets, a shopping bag bumping against her legs. She held her breath a moment as she scanned the car park for Malfoy. She wasn't sure if she was happy or not to see him emerge slowly from the gathering gloom.

"Do you have the clothes?" he asked. Wordlessly, she handed the bag to him and stepped back. He looked pointedly at her. Confused, she stared back, until he shook the bag of clothes and twirled his finger in midair.

"I do need to change, you know, and much as I appreciate your help, I think I can handle this bit on my own," he said, lips twitching momentarily in what could almost be taken as a smile. Hermione hurriedly turned and walked a few steps away, feeling her cheeks heat. Her head whirled, hardly able to take in the events of the last half-hour; Malfoy had gone from attacking her to smiling at her, and right now she wasn't entirely sure which she preferred.

"Ready," came his voice from behind her in a few minutes. She turned around, and her eyes widened at the unfamiliar — and strangely comical — sight. Malfoy looked very different indeed, as he stood somewhat sheepishly before her in Muggle jeans and t-shirt. Even his expression was barely recognisable. She had never before seen him without a sneer on his face.

"Well? What now?" asked Malfoy, walking towards her.

_What indeed?_ Hermione wondered. "We'd better go. It's nearly dark," she replied at last.

She turned and began to walk back in the direction of her house. She heard the thud of running feet as Malfoy caught up with her. He kept pace with difficulty, wincing every now and then from some unknown pain.

"You still haven't told me my name yet," he reminded her. "Or yours."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Your name is Draco Malfoy." She tried to blank out the unpleasant connotations that name conjured up for her. She was startled when he laughed.

"No, come on, seriously, what's my name?" he asked, a half-grin on his thin face. "It's not fair to take advantage of me if I can't remember."

She stared at him in puzzlement. "But that is your name. Draco Malfoy."

"Seriously?" Now it was his turn to look confused. "But that's… it's just… what were my parents thinking?" he cried indignantly. To her surprise, Hermione felt a smile tugging at her lips. She had thought the very same thing when she had first met him.

"What's your name? Not as bad as mine, I should hope. By the way, did I know you? Before, I mean."

"I'm Hermione Granger," she told him, somewhat overwhelmed at the barrage of questions. "We're in the same year at Hog- I mean, at school."

"Not quite as bad as my name, then." He grinned at her again, but fell silent when she didn't return it. Hermione had too much on her mind to worry about smiling at old enemies. She was surprised to find that she actually felt quite sorry for him; she supposed it must be quite traumatising, losing your memory like that. But still, feeling sorry for _Malfoy_, of all people!Yet it wasn't really Malfoy, or so it felt to her. He looked different, talked differently, and altogether behaved in a most un-Malfoy-ish way.

Finally, they reached her house. Only the hall lights were on. She heaved a sigh of relief as she realised that meant her parents weren't home yet. She felt too drained for explanations right now.

"This is your house? It looks very Muggle-ish to me," Malfoy said from behind her.

"That's because I'm Muggleborn," Hermione said coldly, fixing him with a look that dared him to say any more.

"Okay, okay! I never said that was a _bad_ thing, did I?" he protested, blond eyebrows disappearing into grimy hair.

She gave him a funny look as she fumbled for the key. She really didn't know what to make of the 'new' Malfoy. One minute he seemed the exact same, the next... well, he was just different. She slid the key into the lock, twisted and stepped inside, letting the gentle warmth wash over her gratefully. Walking a few steps in, she turned to Malfoy.

"There's a spare room here," she told him, indicating a small room just along the dim hall. "You can sleep in it for tonight."

"Thanks," he muttered, walking in without another word.

She traipsed slowly up the stairs to her bedroom. The evening's events had left her emotionally drained. Entering her dark room, she collapsed on her bed, relaxing for a precious moment. Her long-eared owl, Athena, hooted softly at her from her perch. Hermione looked over at her with a smile. She had bought Athena when her parents had visited London while collecting Hermione from the station. She could still remember that thrill of excitement when she had left Diagon Alley with her beautiful bird. Even though she had Crookshanks as a familiar, she felt she needed some way of communicating with the magical world. She was glad she had bought Athena now.

Hurriedly, Hermione scribbled a note to Professor McGonagall about what had happened, and asked for advice. Athena hopped over and extended her right leg, waiting expectantly for Hermione to attach the letter. Smiling tiredly, Hermione did so and watched as her owl sailed gracefully out into the night sky. As Athena vanished from sight, Hermione sighed and turned from the window, coming back with a bump to the real world. She stifled a yawn and trudged back down to the kitchen to await her parents' return. She didn't think they'd be too happy at finding a wanted Dark wizard staying at their house.

They weren't.


	2. The Dark Mark

**A/N:** On the issue of what to call Draco Malfoy: I don't like when author's just call him Draco, but for the purposes of this fic Hermione refers to him as Malfoy (for the time being), but he thinks of himself as Draco. If this is too confusing, please tell me and I'll find another way. Thank you so much to all my reviewers. Your comments really are appreciated.

Hermione lay in bed late that night, tears drying on her cheeks. She hadn't expected her parents to react so badly. They had flipped. Malfoy was now, unbeknownst to himself, firmly locked in his room, and the key was now locked in a box. She thought that was overdoing it a bit, since he was unarmed and his sixteen years of magical experience forgotten. But her parents had been terrified. It had scared her too, seeing their reaction to her news.

But why? She hadn't even told them what he'd done or what he was. She'd just said that he was a wizard in her year, who'd lost his memory and so was potentially a little dangerous. She'd left out the whole 'Dark Wizard and Muggle-Hater' thing. And yet they were nearly hysterical and were furious with her for 'putting the family at risk' as they called it. _Maybe it's not him they're scared of_, a cruel voice in her head told her. Her heart felt cold, and she tried desperately to quash the thought before it could grow. _It's magic_, it continued mercilessly. _It's YOU!_

"No," she whispered softly to herself. "No, that's not true. They _love_ me. They do!" Turning over on her side, she tired not to listen to the relentless, mocking voice as she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

"Oh!"Hermione awoke with a start as Athena landed with a soft thump on her stomach. Her heart leapt when she saw the letter Athena had brought her. She took it from the owl, who gave an appreciative hoot and hopped back to her perch. Hermione unrolled the scroll quickly, scanning it anxiously for advice on her current predicament.

_Dear Miss Granger_, it read,

_Thank you very much for your letter- you were quite right to contact me. I agree that this is a very dangerous situation for you to be in, especially considering your family circumstances. I will be arriving at eleven o'clock sharp next morning to bring you both to the Weasleys for the time being. DO NOT TELL HIM ANYTHING. It could jolt him enough to bring back his memory, and capable witch as you are, I don't think you could deal with some of the nastier curses he is bound to have picked up._

_Yours sincerely_

_Minerva McGonag_all

Hermione glanced over at the clock on her bedside locker. Ten o'clock already! She couldn't believe she'd slept so late. And Professor McGonagall arriving in an hour! She stumbled sleepily out of her bed, wishing she could have a little longer. She stretched and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. After dressing carefully (she was Hermione Granger, the obsessive organiser after all), she packed her things tidily into her trunk, ready to leave.

She arrived in the kitchen fifteen minutes later and saw a note from her parents on the table. They had gone to work and left the key to Malfoy's room under a plant pot. Shaking her head at these ridiculous precautions, she found the key and slipped along to the room. She paused as he was about to unlock the door and tried to calm down. He was just a boy, after all_. Oh really? You didn't seem so sure yesterday. You jumped every time he spoke!_

Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and rapped sharply on it.

"Malfoy? Are you up yet?"

"Hang on a second," said a drowsy voice. She jumped a little as the door opened and tried to get a grip on herself. What was wrong with her these days? Malfoy was standing there half dressed, his silvery-blonde hair tousled and his eyes were blinking in the bright sunlight.

"You'd better get ready," she told him, averting her eyes. "We're leaving in less than an hour." She turned on her heel and hurried back to the kitchen before waiting to hear his reply.

She was eating breakfast, a book propped in front of her, when Malfoy appeared. So immersed was she in the book, she didn't even look up as he came in. It was only after he cleared his throat noisily that she noticed him.

"Oh, you're here. If you want some breakfast there's cereal, toast, whatever…" She waved her hand in the vague direction of the toaster and then returned to her book. He looked at it in confusion for a few minutes before he spoke again.

"Er… Hermione, what is it?"

She jumped at the sound of her first name coming from that mouth. "What's what?" she asked, putting down her book

"This thing," he said, gesturing at the toaster. "What does it do?" She stared at him incredulously before she realised that, as a Malfoy, he'd never seen one before. She muttered to herself about the foolishness of Muggle-ignorant wizards not doing Muggle Studies until she recollected that he wouldn't have remembered it even if he had taken that subject. She showed him how to work it and sat down to finish her book, trying to ignore his frequent exclamations at the intricate workings of the toaster. He finally got it working to some degree, and sat there munching on two pieces of very burnt toast.

"What's a Pepper-Up Potion?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"What?" Hermione looked at him in confusion. He glanced swiftly away.

"Never mind".

A few minutes later he seemed to remember something.

"Oh, by the way, Hermione," he said. She sighed in exasperation. At this rate, she would never finish her book. "What is it this time?"

"What's this? I saw it today and, I dunno, it just seems to mean something. Do you know what it is?" He leaned across the table towards her and jerked his right sleeve up. Hermione screamed and leapt back, knocking her chair over. There, contrasting sharply with Malfoy's pale skin, was the Dark Mark. The eyes seemed to glare at her, fixing their malevolent gaze on her quailing face. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

Malfoy kept looking from her to his arm and back again in bewilderment.

"Just… just cover it up," she said faintly. "Don't let anyone see that." He shrugged and shook his sleeve back down. They finished their breakfast in silence.

She heaved a sigh of relief as he left to take a shower a few minutes before eleven. Now that her moment of panic was over, she was cross with herself for reacting so violently. He was bound to notice something was wrong. She supposed she was just on edge after the events of the day before. After tidying the kitchen swiftly she wrote a note to her parents to explain where they were gone. She had just finished it when she heard a sharp crack outside, and the doorbell ringing a moment later. She opened the door to find Professor McGonagall standing on the doorstep.

"May I come in?" she asked briskly, and stepped inside before Hermione could reply. "Where is he?"

"Oh, I think he's just having a shower or something…" Hermione faltered as Professor McGonagall's steely gaze fixed on her in incredulity. "It's okay though," she rushed on, "I mean, he's no wand and doesn't know where he is, it's quite safe-" she cut off suddenly as she realised she was babbling.

"I think you'd better tell me the whole story," Professor McGonagall said firmly, guiding Hermione to a chair. "From start to finish."

Draco pulled on his shirt and began hunting for his shoes. The _Accio_ spell would do quite nicely now, he thought. _The what!_ Yet again, the thought slipped away. He didn't bother racking his brains for the source. All that got him was a headache. He would get his memory back in time. Finding one shoe, he stuffed his foot in. This memory loss thing was very annoying though. And that girl was no help. What was her name, Hermione or something? Weird name. He grunted sourly. He was one to talk. That girl though, she was definitely strange. Every time he spoke, she either went bright red or jumped. Or ignored him entirely.

He found his other shoe with a smile of triumph. She probably fancied him, he told himself. That would explain it. From what he could see, he was pretty good looking. And obviously entertaining and intelligent.

Grinning, he unlocked the door and began walking towards the kitchen.

"…and it's just been awful, Professor," Hermione finished. Professor McGonagall looked at her in surprise.

"Awful? How? From what you've just told me, he seems to be vastly improved."

"Well, yes," said Hermione helplessly, "but it's just so _awkward._"

At that moment Malfoy entered the room. He looked surprised for a moment when he saw Professor McGonagall but he quickly recovered his composure and walked over to her.

"Hi, I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, extending his hand with a friendly smile. Professor McGonagall looked at him in shock, her composure slipping far enough that her mouth actually hung open.

"Yes, yes, Miss Granger I see what you mean," she said somewhat faintly. His smile slipped a little and he lowered his hand unshaken.

"Er… I think you know who I am, but I can't really remember much and…" he trailed off awkwardly.

"Oh yeah, Malfoy, this is Professor McGonagall," Hermione informed him hurriedly. "She teaches at Hogwarts -- I mean, at school," she added as he looked confused.

"Yes, and I've come to take both of you to the Weasleys' house," said Professor McGonagall, recovering herself swiftly and snapping her mouth shut. "Get your things and we will leave immediately."

Hermione ran upstairs and began Levitating her heavy trunk down the stairs. She carried Athena, in her cage, herself. When she arrived in the kitchen she found the others waiting for her. Malfoy noticed the wand in her hand.

"Hey, shouldn't I have one of those?" he asked, a frown creasing his forehead. Before Hermione could reply, Professor McGonagall interrupted them.

"I know that you, Miss Granger, have your Apparition license, but I'm presuming that Mr. Malfoy does not." So saying, she grasped Malfoy firmly by the arm. He looked suddenly very apprehensive.

"Are you ready?" she asked Hermione, who gave a nod of assent. " Good. On the count of three. One. Two. Three!"

The world dissolved as Hermione felt the by now familiar compression. She staggered a little and felt someone steadying her. She looked around and saw that Malfoy had gripped her arm. She wriggled quickly away, but he didn't seem to notice. He was staring at the large haphazard building in front of them. Hermione smiled. They had reached the Burrow.


	3. A Warm Welcome

**A/N: Thank you so much to all my reviewers so far. This story has been nominated at the 'He Had It Coming Dramione Awards' for Most Original story and best author. Any and all votes are much appreciated! The link is on my author's page.**

Draco stared at the house, if such it was, in front of which he had just materialized. Its proportions seemed to defy the laws of physics. The teacher woman had headed directly for it the moment they arrived. He cast a sidelong glance at Hermione. She too was looking at the house but with joy and affection in her eyes. Her smile of pure happiness transfigured her face so that she looked positively beautiful. _Wow_, thought Draco, startled,_ she's not that bad looking._. She took a step towards the house, and then whirled around in sudden irritation as he caught her arm. The beautifying smile was replaced by an annoyed frown.

"Wait a second, I've just been transported I don't know how many miles by some weird way I probably don't want to know about, but I need some explanations," he said, still holding on tightly to her arm, despite her efforts to pull herself free. He wondered at the sudden look of fear that crossed her face. She took advantage of his momentary lapse of concentration to wrench her arm free.

"Look Malfoy, we've just reached here, I'm sure Professor McGonagall could answer you questions much better than I could," Hermione said, avoiding his eyes.

"No, I want answers from you, right now," he said determinedly. "Where are we? Where's my wand? What happened to me? And why do you call me Malfoy and not Draco?"

"I -- I…" Hermione looked suddenly very uncomfortable and awkward. "We don't really know each other very well. I found you in a car park, unconscious."

"Okay," he said, unconvinced that this was the full truth, "but where are we now?"

"Oh, this is my friends' house," she replied, looking relieved at having a simple answer to give. "I really should go meet them, I haven't seen them in ages."

"Now wait I have more questions," he said, raising his voice as she moved away. He ran and seized her once more by the wrist. This time there was no mistaking her fearful expression.

"Who am I? I don't mean my name, I want to know what kind of person I am. And where is my wand? If you have it, I want it back. Now."

Hermione gave a heavy sigh. "Professor McGonagall thinks it might be safer if I kept your wand for a bit," she said carefully. "You don't presently know how to use it, so you might hurt someone. She also reckons it would be better if you weren't told about you past life until the right time, it could come as a big shock and that might set you back again."

He gave her a hard stare, then decided to reserve judgement on whether or not she was lying. He released her arm and she snatched it back hurriedly. She turned and stalked off towards the house.

_So maybe she doesn't like me_, Draco thought wryly. _But why is she scared?_ A door slammed, bringing him out of his reverie with a shock. He realised that Hermione was already inside and hurried after her.

* * *

Hermione scurried quickly into the Burrow. Why did Malfoy have this effect on her? Even if he just looked at her, it sent a shiver of fear down her spine. She frowned worriedly.

"Hermione!" said a familiar voice. She looked up and saw Harry and Ron coming towards her. Her face broke into a huge smile. She hugged Harry and went to do the same to Ron, but he leaned almost imperceptibly away. Her face fell as she realised that he still hadn't come to terms with her decision.

"I have so much news!" she began, then stopped suddenly as the boys' faces looked shocked and then quickly hardened as they whipped out their wands and leapt forwards. She heard a small whimper and turned to see Malfoy with two wands tightly pressed against his throat. His eyes were rolling wildly in fear as he backed into the wall.

"Malfoy," Harry said, in a deceptively calm voice, "what are you doing here?" Ron said nothing, but he shoved his wand further into Malfoy's neck.

"Put you wands down, both of you," Hermione said wearily. Harry and Ron turned to her incredulously.

"Hermione, this is M_alfoy_ here--" Harry started to say, but she cut him off.

"No it's not- I mean, it is Malfoy, but he's not really himself, he's--" She broke off as Harry and Ron exchanged exasperated looks. "Just put down your wands. I've got his wand already." They grudgingly obliged, and Malfoy sank to the floor, gasping and rubbing his neck. Two bright red angry spots and appeared on his neck where the wands had been. He gave Harry and Ron a look of pure venom, but they ignored him.

"All right Hermione, what is going on?" asked Harry, with Ron nodding agreement.

"I need to talk to you both," she said, getting up and walking over to the stairs. "Privately," she added as Malfoy started to get up to follow her. He scowled and flopped down on a chair. Trying to ignore him, she ran up to Ron's room to fill her friends in on recent events.

* * *

Draco sprawled in the chair, his mind occupied by dark thoughts. How _dare_ anyone treat him like that! He was Draco Malfoy!_ Yeah, but who's that? _a snide voice in his head whispered. Quashing it, he rose and slouched over to the stairs and looked up. No sign of them yet. He kicked the banister as hard as he could in frustration, and bit back a yelp at the pain. Cursing himself for being so stupid and impatient, he began walking around the kitchen. He was just inspecting a very strange clock when the door burst open. He turned and had just about enough time to scream before the spell hit him in the chest.

* * *

Hermione had just finished explaining to Harry and Ron when they heard a shrill scream from below. Immediately they leapt up and thundered down the stairs. Ron laughed out loud at the scene that met their eyes.

Fred and George were standing over Malfoy, who'd apparently been hit with a Full Body Bind. They'd looked up as the trio arrived.

"Oh, hi Hermione, didn't know you'd arrived yet," said George casually. "Any idea where this git came from?" He kicked Malfoy, who looked like he was about to faint.

"Will I break his nose? He did that to you, Harry, last year, didn't he?" Fred asked, and lifted his foot as if he was about to do just that. Malfoy's eyes were writhing in their sockets.

"Don't!" shrieked Hermione. Harry stepped forward and performed the counter-curse. Malfoy hauled himself to his feet, took one look at the twins and then leapt behind Hermione. He was trembling uncontrollably.

"Since when do you protect Malfoy?" Fred asked in amazement.

"He's lost his memory," Harry said briefly. "Tell you more later," he added as they opened their mouths once more.

"Hermione," Malfoy said in a low voice. She jumped and turned around. He still looked shaken, and his eyes kept darting from her to the twins, as if he was afraid they'd go for him again. "Who are these people? And why have I been attacked twice in the last hour!" His voice rose almost to a squeak as he finished.

"These are the Weasleys, my friends." He snorted and stood back. "Some friends," he sneered. Harry walked up to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. She nodded and tried to smile reassuringly

"Malfoy was just asking me who everyone was," she told him.

"Oh. Well, I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, turning to Malfoy. He was obviously trying not to show his dislike. Malfoy noticed this, and his lip curled and he ignored Harry's proffered hand.

"I thought you said he was different," Harry whispered to Hermione.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't attacked him the second you saw him, he would be," she replied quietly.

"How was I supposed to know that he wasn't … himself? And what do you want me to do about it?"

"You could apologise," she reminded him, and had to swallow a laugh at his indignant expression.

"Apologise to _Malfoy_!"

"He doesn't know he's a Malfoy. As far as he's concerned, it's just a name." Harry shrugged in defeat and turned to Malfoy, who'd been eyeing their whispered conversation with suspicion.

"Sorry about … er … attacking you," Harry said awkwardly, glancing at Hermione to see how he was doing. "I didn't know about your … situation."

"Well. Right. Okay," Malfoy muttered grudgingly, putting a hand to his throat where the marks from the wands were beginning to bruise. Harry rolled his eyes and went to move away, but Malfoy caught his arm.

"Wait, just tell me this -- do I know you?" Malfoy asked, desperation evident in his voice

"Yeah, I suppose so," said Harry slowly. "From school." Malfoy nodded, then seemed to remember something.

"Did I really break your nose?"

"Yeah. I got it fixed though," Harry said. "And don't bother asking why," he added. "We're not supposed to tell you anything."

At that moment Professor McGonagall walked in to the kitchen, closely followed by the Weasley parents.

"Good, most of you are here," she said briskly. "I presume you are all now familiar with Mr. Malfoy's … state of mind. He will be staying here for a while--" The twins groaned loudly and started to protest, and Malfoy didn't look too happy either, but Professor McGonagall silenced them all with a stern look. "As I was saying, he will be staying here and I trust you are all mature to put past grievances behind you."

"Easy for her to say. He never made her eat slugs," whispered Ron sullenly to Hermione.

"You performed that curse on yourself!"

"I was aiming for him, wasn't I? How was I supposed to know it'd backfire? Anyway, you're the one he called a Mudblood."

"Honestly Ron, some of us are mature enough not to care about petty name-calling."

"You saying I'm not mature?" They carried on bickering and teasing each other as they made their way upstairs. They parted at the top and Hermione went into the room that she shared with Ginny. She was glad that Ron had finally forgiven her.

"Hermione?" She turned and saw Ginny sitting on the bed, brushing her flaming red hair. "What's going on? I heard a load of noise downstairs."

"You will not believe what has happened …" Hermione began. When she had finished relating her story she looked at her friend to see her reaction. Ginny was staring at her incredulously.

"So Malfoy is now down in my kitchen at this very moment?" Hermione nodded. Ginny rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. Wait a second -- where's he going to sleep? The twins are back -- all the rooms are full!" She and Hermione looked at each other.

"He'll have to sleep in Ron's room, I suppose," Hermione reasoned. Ginny immediately burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Can you imagine those three sharing a room as small as Ron's? There is going to absolute _havoc_!" Ginny collapsed on the bed, laughing uncontrollably. Hermione stared at her amusement.

"You know, sometimes Ginny, you are worse than the twins!"

* * *

Draco stormed out into the garden. Twice in one hour he had been attacked! Needless to say, there had been no mention of apologies, except from Potter. _Why_ had Hermione brought him here? It was very obvious that they all hated him. But why? He sat down on a hard stone bench and wracked his brain in vain, trying desperately to remember something, _anything_, from his past.

It must have been hours later when he was woken from his reverie by his stomach growling loudly. He realised that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. He stood up, stretching numbed muscles, and shook his silvery-blonde hair from his eyes. His hair really was too long, he reflected. He heard someone calling out "Dinner!" and hurried inside.

Draco saw with some trepidation that there were no adults in the kitchen, just the twins, Potter, that redhead, and another pretty girl with a head of violently red hair. He didn't know where Hermione was. He sidled cautiously inside, trying to appear unobtrusive. Pulling out a chair, he went to sit down -- and fell flat on his backside on the floor.

His normally pale cheeks heated to a flaming crimson as he struggled back to his feet amidst gales of laughter. Cursing under his breath, he went to grab his chair. His eyes widened in surprise as it moved away from him. He lunged at the chair, trying to put the howls of mirth from his mind. He caught himself this time before he fell over. The chair had leapt right back and was now hovering in the air. He glared around the table at the laughing faces, and angrily brushed away the tears of shame and fury that had come to his eyes. One of them was doing this to him, but he had as much chance of getting them to stop as there was of Hermione kissing him. Which meant none. _Where did that thought come from? Why would you want Hermione to kiss you?_

Draco shook his head, trying to focus on the matter at hand -- getting his chair back. Gritting his teeth, he made a last-ditch effort to catch the chair, and managed this time to hang on to a leg. Panting with exertion, he attempted to pull it back down to the ground. He gave an involuntary yelp of pain and surprise as the chair began hitting him around the head with the uncaptured legs. He released the chair and tried to retreat, but the chair now chased him around the room, whacking him hard. Everyone was crying with laughter. He threw them a look of vicious hatred. Why would anyone do something like this to another human? He bit his lip as a particularly hard clout nearly knocked him over.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" a female voice shrieked. The chair immediately collapsed, dashing Draco to the floor. Furiously he knocked it off and hauled himself painfully to his feet. His head was throbbing from the blows the chair leg had given him. He tried to pull himself together and maintain some dignity as he sat down, but it was difficult since everyone had just seen him being chased around the room by a possessed chair.

Draco's saviour, a diminutive red-haired woman, was glaring at everyone in the room. They all had their head down. He looked with venom at the twins. He was sure one of them had been behind it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione slip into the room and sit down.

"If I catch any of you behaving like that ever again, you are going to regret it!" said the woman sternly. "Now, we're all little tight for space, so Harry and Ron, you're going to share with … with …" She gestured at him.

"Draco," he supplied helpfully.

"Yes, yes, of course." He couldn't help but notice that she too was regarding him with a tinge of dislike on her otherwise cheerful face.

Suddenly he realised what she had actually said. He had to share a room with _those_ two? He glanced over and saw similar looks of horror on their faces.

"But Mum--" the redhead, Rob or something, began.

"No buts," she said sharply. "It's settled."

Draco grimaced. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.


	4. Dreams

**A/N: Thanks everyone for all your support so far. Your reviews really do encourage me to write! And deepwell, there is actually a reason for him thinking like that. You could say that he's in two minds about a lot of things. Thanks for the constructive criticism, though; that's what every author needs!**

_Draco squinted at the darkness surrounding, trying to pierce the blackness for some shape or form to tell him he wasn't blind. The full moon appeared briefly from behind ominous clouds, bathing the room around him in pale unearthly light. He looked around at its rickety contents, his heart plummeting sickeningly. They were all too familiar. He fought down the nauseating terror threatening to engulf him. This was where–_

_Suddenly the door was flung open, bouncing off the wall so hard that the rotting hinges broke, sending it crashing to the floor. A tall figure stood in the doorway, his eyes burning brightly with a vicious fervour. They were visible even in the sickly moonlight. _

_Draco stumbled backwards, despite the panic that tried to keep him still, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. He tripped over something on the floor and fell to the ground. He froze as he heard the figure laugh, in a voice so cold it turned his spine to ice. Mesmerised by terror, he could only watch as the figure drew a wand and pointed it at him._

"_CRUCIO!"_

"Aaaarghh!" Draco sat up with a throat-ripping scream. Drawing deep lungfuls of the stuffy air, he looked around him. His heart was thumping so hard he was sure it would come out any moment. He was in a small room, lying on the floor. The breeze gently lifted the curtains, revealing the sickle moon, too weak to provide any real light.

"What the bloody hell was that?" came a voice, sounding drowsy but worried. Draco turned. The redhead – _Ron_, he thought – was staring at him as though he had grown an extra arm. Potter was sitting up from his camp bed, wand grasped firmly in his hand. They both had their eyes fixed at him, sleepiness startled out of them.

"I… I had a…a… dream," he finished finally. Had it been a dream? It had felt so real.

"You were screaming because you had a nightmare?" said Ron sceptically, rolling his eyes at Potter. But Potter was looking at him thoughtfully.

The door banged open suddenly. Draco felt the familiar fear rise up in him. _It was a dream! It's not real!_ But the people who entered were nearly as bad.

"What happened? We heard screaming," asked Fred, looking around the room. George was standing right behind him, peering over his shoulder.

"Nothing. Malfoy just had a _nightmare_," said Ron in a disgusted tone of voice. Fred rolled his eyes theatrically and turned to leave. He stopped suddenly and stared at Draco fixedly. Draco glanced at where Fred was looking, and saw only the weird marking on his right arm.

"What?" he asked, a little self-consciously. Fred opened his mouth a few times but nothing came out. Draco wondered if they were making fun of him again, until he saw the real fear in Fred's eyes. Confused, he looked at his arm again. The faint moonlight made his pale skin seem to glow, and the mark stood out even more clearly than normal. In fact, he thought as he looked more closely, it was much darker and clearer than he'd ever seen before. He glanced back up, and saw Potter whispering something to the twins. He strained his ears, but could hear nothing. The twins nodded and left the room. Draco could here them further down the hall, intercepting another curious visitor.

"Move along, move along! Nothing to see, just a poor babby can't sleep!"

Draco rolled over on the hard wooden floor. He could feel every grain in the wood. It was typical that while Potter and Ron got proper beds, he had to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor. His eyelids began to droop, but he fought sleep, dreading another nightmare if such it was. _Can you feel pain in dreams?_ he wondered. Because he had certainly felt pain when the spell hit him. He could vividly remember the agony coursing through him, making him oblivious to everything else. It had been the same last night, several times over. His eyes snapped right open suddenly. He'd just remembered what the pain was like – those shooting pains he'd gotten when he'd first met Hermione. He considered the possibilities of this until he was so exhausted he dropped off to sleep in mid-thought. His nightly terrors once again paid a visit.

* * *

Hermione was finishing her breakfast when Harry and Ron slouched into the kitchen. They both looked utterly exhausted. There were huge black circles around their eyes.

"What's wrong with you two?" she asked curiously. Harry's eyes drifted shut, until he forced them open and focused on her blearily.

"Malfoy. He–" Ron began with a growl, but the rest of his sentence was cut off by an enormous, jaw-cracking yawn. Hermione looked after them with some amusement as they shuffled off to get their breakfast.

She turned her head as a loud thumping indicated the coming of yet another late sleeper. But as Malfoy entered, she realised that whatever it was he had been doing, it definitely wasn't sleeping. His blonde hair was messy and tousled, and his face was even paler than usual, emphasising the bruises that were beginning to show from last night. His normally piercing grey eyes were misted over with tiredness, with great dark circles beneath them. Hermione thought, a little unkindly, that he looked a bit like a panda. He hauled out a chair from under the table and sat down.

"Are you okay?" she asked, a little concerned about his miserable appearance. The question seemed to startle him. His eye kept darting about as if he expected an attack any minute and knew he could do nothing about it.

"What? Oh, yeah. I mean no. I don't know." He slumped down on the table and cradled his head in his arms. He looked suddenly so vulnerable and helpless that she felt a great urge to help and protect him. Suddenly she realised what she was thinking. Help i Malfoy /i ! The one who'd done his very best to make her years at Hogwarts a misery? She'd sooner help an Acromantula. It was her weakness for pitiful cases acting up again – last time it had seen the foundation of S.P.E.W.

At that moment Harry and Ron staggered over to the table carrying plates heaped with food. Malfoy had lifted his head and was staring hungrily at the loaded plates. Ron sat down and instantly attacked his food ravenously, cramming it into his mouth. Hermione turned her face away distastefully. Even after six years she still hadn't gotten used to this particular habit.

"There's food over there if you want," she told Malfoy. He nodded, and pulling himself out of the chair, went over to prepare some food. Hermione eyed Harry and Ron critically.

"The pair of you look absolutely wrecked," she said. Ron threw her a look that clearly meant 'you don't say'. "What happened last night?"

"Well, _someone_ had nightmares about twenty times during the night," Ron said in a loud voice that was obviously meant to carry, "and woke up screaming every time." Malfoy's back stiffened suddenly, and as he turned to come back to the table his hands were gripping his bowl of porridge so tightly it looked as if it would smash any second. Hermione looked puzzled.

"That's strange," she said, frowning, "because nothing like that happened in my house."

"Yes it did," Malfoy said in a rasping, croaking voice. "The same thing. I don't think any one heard." His voice cracked a bit at the end. Hermione could see that he was really distressed and even frightened. She looked at him curiously. What kind of dream could have such a powerful effect on him? An idea struck her suddenly and she exchanged glances with Harry, who had apparently come to the same conclusion.

"Malfoy," Harry said slowly, "Do these dreams feel real? Like they're actually happening?" Malfoy turned his large frightened eyes to Harry eagerly.

"Yes, exactly! And it's always the same. Same place, same time, same… person." He shuddered as he finished as if even the memory terrified and disturbed him.

"Was this person tall? With a high, cold voice?" asked Harry unsteadily. Hermione gasped as she realised what he was getting at. Malfoy gaped at Harry.

"How did you know? And his eyes are really, I dunno, bright and – and mad. He said something, a spell I think. Whatever it was, it hurt. A lot."

"Maybe try to get some sleep now, Malfoy. It might only happen at night," said Harry firmly. Malfoy nodded in a distractedly and headed upstairs. The second he was gone Harry whirled round to Ron and Hermione.

"You know who he's talking about, don't you," Harry said flatly. It was more of a statement than a question, but Hermione and Ron nodded anyway. "Voldemort tortured Malfoy, who presumably apparated. Hermione found him, he tried to wipe her memory, and it backfired."

"Makes sense," Ron grunted. "You-Know-Who wouldn't be too pleased with a Death Eater who wouldn't kill Dumbledore, and Malfoy was always a coward."

"Why didn't Malfoy just kill me?" Hermione said thoughtfully. "It would have been a lot easier for him." Harry and Ron shrugged.

"Didn't have the guts?" Ron suggested. Hermione shook her head, dissatisfied.

"Just because you can kill somebody doesn't make you brave," she said quietly. Ron immediately went red and started to protest that that wasn't what he meant, when Harry, who had been silent for a few moments, suddenly spoke.

"This is going to mess up all our plans," he said dully. Hermione and Ron turned to him in surprise. He faced them, a despairing look in his eyes.

"We planned to go after Bill and Fleur's wedding, which is in two weeks. Then we said we'd wait until after my birthday so I can legally do magic outside school. Now we're going to have to wait until Malfoy recovers." He raised his hands as they both started speaking at once. "I know that's what's planned: we're going to have to babysit Malfoy because he's 'potentially dangerous'. Ron' dad told me last night. Apparently it's an important mission for the Order which we should give our full attention to." Harry spat the words out bitterly, thumping his fist on the table in frustration. "It's so we don't go to Godric's Hollow like we planned. The Order think we're not able to take on Voldemort. But if I don't, who will? I've faced him five times and I'm still living! What about the prophecy? I'm the only one who can do it, and all they do is delay me!" His voice rose to a furious shout. He threw back his chair and began striding angrily up and down the cluttered kitchen. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances.

"Harry, all everyone wants is to protect you," Hermione said in a small voice. He scowled and shook his head.

"Look, mate, I know it's annoying but we'll only have to wait a few extra days. Malfoy will be back to his usual nasty self in a few weeks," said Ron, in a tone that was clearly meant to calm him down. Before Harry could erupt, Hermione forestalled him.

"Why don't we say we'll wait for just three weeks after your birthday, and if Malfoy's not himself by then, we'll leave no matter what." Harry nodded grudgingly. Hermione heaved a tiny sigh of relief. When Harry was angry, it could be very difficult to calm him down.

At that moment, Ginny, ever the late riser, entered the room. The embarrassment between herself and Harry was almost tangible. Hermione quickly leapt in and volunteered to go for a walk with Ginny. Hopefully it would help to clear her muddled mind.


	5. Monkey Mayhem

**A/N: I'm seriously considering deleting this from this site, as it's getting very little interest. If you want it to stay on, please review! Otherwise you can find it on Mugglenet Fanfiction, under the same title. Speaking of titles, I finally managed to fix it so it comes up properly. I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

Hermione and Ginny walked slowly down the winding country lane, each girl occupied with her own thoughts. Hermione's head was spinning. Harry's outburst had taken her aback at first, but the more she thought about it the more she realised the truth in his words. Every time they put forward a time for departure, an Order member would come up with some reason to delay it.

A bird sang, shattering the silence. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm her crowded mind. She told herself to think positively. Here she was, at the Burrow, her friends around her. She should be happy! Even as she tried to convince herself of this, she felt an uncomfortable thought niggling at her consciousness. Malfoy. She felt a sudden tide of resentment against him. If it wasn't for him, Harry wouldn't be so tense, the atmosphere in the house would be better, she could have a good time. Yes, Malfoy was the cause of all the problems surrounding her. Nothing else. Just him.

"Why didn't you and Ron get together?" Ginny said suddenly. Hermione turned to her in surprise.

"How did you know--?"

"Oh, come on, it was painfully obvious that you two liked each other as more than friends," Ginny interrupted, rolling her eyes. Hermione sighed resignedly.

"He asked but I said no," she said quietly. Ginny glanced at her with an unreadable expression on her face.

"But why? You told me that you really like him."

"I do!" Hermione said quickly. "I really do. It's just … not convenient right now, while we're going with Harry. We need to be focused. But I really like him. Really, I do."

"It's not me you need to convince, Hermione," said Ginny quietly. Hermione stopped dead.

"What are you getting at?" she demanded angrily. Ginny turned to her.

"I think you're fooling yourself! Last year, you couldn't shut up about him, it was Ron this, Ron that. Now, you're even avoiding him. Maybe you did like him," she said, softening her tone a little, "but not any more. You might want to like him, but that's not enough. You need to accept that you've moved on. Otherwise, you'll both get hurt."

Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes. "No, it's not true. I do like him. I've liked him for _years_."

"Hermione, people change. Ron's changed, you've changed. You might not want to, but you can't stop it."

"I told him I really liked him. I said I'd go out with him after everything was over," whispered Hermione, looking at the ground.

"That's what I mean! You say 'really liked' not 'loved'. You're just putting off telling him how you really feel."

Sudden anger flashed through Hermione. "You're the one who told me last year to go for it. And I think teenagers wildly declaring their love is ridiculous! I'm seventeen! How can I know what love is?"

Ginny looked at her sadly. "Hermione, that is the clearest proof possible that you have no interest in Ron in that way. Look, you can feel love at any age! I love Harry! What about Victor Krum? He was your first boyfriend, didn't you feel anything for him?"

"I only had a crush on him, that wasn't anything serious," Hermione said dismissively. "And -- wait, did you just say you loved Harry?" Amazement flooded her mind, followed by a wave of pity. Poor Ginny. She was so passionate about everything, and threw herself into things without stopping to think of the consequences. She took things so seriously… _Harry probably isn't anywhere as near as committed as she is, _Hermione thought sadly.

"Yes, I did!" said Ginny defensively. "And don't look at me like that! He feels the same way!"

"Ginny," Hermione said tentatively, "I know Harry likes you a lot, but--" She was interrupted as Ginny flared up again.

"But nothing! He _loves_ me, I know he does." All of this was said with the utmost conviction. Hermione's heart went out to her. Ginny fell in love so easily, all that could come was heartbreak.

"But Ginny," Hermione said, hating herself for it, "Ginny, why did Harry break up with you?" Ginny stiffened suddenly.

"That's none of your business," she replied coldly. She spun around and strode back to The Burrow.

"Ginny, wait!" Hermione called after her, running to catch up. "Ginny, I'm sorry--" Ginny halted abruptly.

"Look Hermione, I don't want to talk about this with you any more. You know _nothing_ about love. Nothing! So don't lecture me on throwing my heart away. At least I have a heart to throw!" She cut off suddenly as she saw the hurt in Hermione's eyes. She opened and closed her mouth a few times as if searching for something to say, before shrugging angrily and striding back into the house.

Hermione stayed behind, desperately fighting back tears. She threw her head back and gulped a breath of fresh air. The sky was a brilliant blue, with only wisps of cloud drifting slowly past. Everywhere, colours were brighter and smells were sharper. It truly was a lovely day. The beauty seemed to mock Hermione, as she struggled to surmount a looming cliff of misery. She eventually regained her self control and followed Ginny inside.

Hermione, immersed in her own thoughts, almost crashed into Ginny in the doorway. Ginny was standing stock still, with an expression of amused surprise on her face. Hermione peered over her shoulder to see what was happening. Her mouth dropped open in sheer amazement at the scene that met her eyes.

* * *

Loud voices drifted up from downstairs, waking Draco from his first proper, and thankfully dream-free, sleep in days. He hauled himself out of the bed reluctantly. Stretching, he irritably swept his straggly blonde hair from his face. Really, it was far too long. He didn't know what he'd been thinking to let it grow that much. Of course, he didn't know much about what he'd been thinking about at all… 

He shook his head, trying to rid it of these unwelcome thoughts. He'd find out who he was soon enough. Hermione would tell him when the time was right.

_Why do you put so much trust in one girl?_ a sneering voice whispered from the back of his head. _You have no idea who she is. And after all, she IS a Mudblood_.

"A what?" Draco mumbled aloud. He suddenly felt very confused, and his head hurt. It was as if there was someone else sharing his mind. That would certainly explain all these things he kept half remembering. He firmly squashed that idea. He had enough things to be worrying about without disembodied voices in his head.

He rolled the sleeping bag into a ball and stuffed it under the camping bed Harry was sleeping on. He edged his way out of the room carefully, trying not to step on any of the junk littering the floor. The room was much too small to hold three teenage boys, especially one as messy as Ron. Clothes, quills, books; everything was scattered all over the place. Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste as he stepped over a pair of socks which by the smell of them had been there a very long time.

He walked down the stairs and into the noisy kitchen. He suppressed a groan as he saw Fred and George talking animatedly with Harry and Ron.

"So when are you going back to the shop?" Harry was saying. Draco glanced around the kitchen. There was no-one there who would come to his defence. Undecided, he hovered out of sight.

"In a week or two. We've someone watching the shop for us until then," Fred replied. "We were going to leave a bit sooner, but we feel you need some moral support"--Harry snorted-- "while that little git is here." Draco clenched his fists furiously. How dare they talk about him like that! They didn't even know him!

"Has he really lost his memory? Or is he just putting it on?" George asked curiously. Draco was outraged. Why the hell would he pretend to have lost his memory if he hadn't? Why would they think of him as a liar? He finally decided he'd had enough. Gritting his teeth, he walked into the room. All conversation immediately ceased.

"'Morning Malfoy," George said quickly, a fake smile plastered across his face. Draco threw him a filthy look.

"I know you were talking about me," Draco snapped, flinging himself into a chair. The others exchanged looks. "What's that smell?"

"My meringues!" Fred exclaimed. He ran over to the oven and pulled open the door. He leapt back as steam gushed out. Eventually he managed to take out the tray of meringues. They glistened appetizingly in the midday light. Draco felt his stomach rumble appreciatively at the sight. He realised it was almost lunch time.

Sucking several burnt fingers, Fred proffered the tray to Draco. Draco eyed him suspiciously, but he _was_ very hungry. Against all common sense, he muttered 'thank you' and took a meringue. As his teeth broke the crispy shell, he saw Fred's face light up with evil glee.

Suddenly, the world began spinning. Colours whirled into each other, spinning faster and faster like a rainbow in a blender, shapes morphed from one thing to another, growing hugely before shrinking down to dollhouse size, then shooting up again. Draco fell out of his chair, clutching his head wildly. He crouched on the floor, willing it all to stop.

It did, abruptly. He looked up slowly, still dizzy from whatever it was. Everything seemed much taller and bigger than usual. His chair stood almost fifteen feet high!.He reached upwards, hoping against hope that it was all some kind of illusion. What he saw made him stop and stare in horror. Instead of his own pale hand, a small, stubby one had appeared, with black leathery skin. Appalled, he looked at the rest of his body. He was covered in fine blonde hair -- or _fur_ -- all over. He turned to the other boys in terrified horror. _They'll help me, won't they? No-one could be so cruel as to leave another person stranded with no hope of help? _

Fred, George and Ron were speechless with laughter. Fred had slid onto the floor, the tray of meringues lying haphazardly across his lap as he choked with mirth. Harry's face was split in a broad grin, and he looked as if he was fighting back chuckles.

"What did you do, put something in the meringue?" he grinned.

"Yep. Monkey Meringues!" Fred declared, recovering a little. Malfoy was speechless with anger – or would have been, if he could have talked. They thought this was _funny_? Wait -- they had _caused_ this?

All the fury and frustration he had been carrying around since he had lost his memory welled up in him. With a shriek of rage, he flung himself at Fred, who yelled and fell over. Draco, lost in a raging inferno of fury, snatched and scratched and tore at Fred's face. Fred tried to fend him off, but was no match for the maddened monkey.

"DO SOMETHING- aaghh!" Fred bellowed as Draco tore tufts of his ginger hair out. Harry and Ron were laughing helplessly, faces red with uncontainable laughter. George dithered beside Fred.

"The charm should have worn off by now!" he cried.

"PULL – HIM -- OFF – ME!" Fred roared. George eyed Draco, who was now trying to poke Fred's eyes out.

"I'm not touching it. You're on your own," he announced flatly, stepping back.

"_What is going o_?" The boys turned, laughter snapping off. In the sudden cessation, the sounds of the skirmish rang aroumd the room. Hermione and Ginny were standing goggle-eyed in the doorway.

"Where did the monkey come-- is that MALFOY?!" shrieked Hermione as realisation dawned. George nodded, resigned to his fate of certain death.

"The charm isn't wearing off, he should have turned back by now, though," he told them earnestly, trying to stall the inevitable punishment.

All of a sudden there was a loud bang. Draco re-appeared, sitting on Fred's chest, looking dazed and disorientated. He looked down and saw Fred's face, covered in scratches. His expression hardened and he raised his fist. Harry tackled him, sending them both flying.

Draco struggled to extricate himself, but Harry kept a firm grip.

"Let me GO!" screamed Draco, struggling furiously.

"Malfoy, you need to calm down--" Hermione began.

"NO! He turned me into a _monkey_! What the hell is wrong with everyone here? I haven't done anything to you! I don't even _know_ you! And yet you all treat me as if I've done my best to make your lives miserable since I met you!"

"Yeah, well, you have," snarled Fred, heaving himself off the floor. Draco cut off mid-rant and stared at him.

"What do you mean? I only met you yesterday!"

"We've known you for about six years now, Malfoy. You take every opportunity to insult our family, you curse Harry and Hermione every chance you get, you--"

"Fred, stop!" Hermione shrieked. "He's not supposed to know yet!"

"I _what_?" Draco whispered. He stopped struggling, and Harry released him. He didn't get up. He felt like his world had suddenly done a handstand. Suddenly, everything had been turned on its head was wobbling precariously. He was Hermione's _enemy_? No, that couldn't be right. He glanced up at her expectantly, waiting for her to tell him it was all a lie. His hopes were cruelly dashed as he looked into her eyes and saw the truth. Dislike, even hatred, was mirrored in her large brown eyes he had come to trust in the few days he had known her. He felt as if the floor had disappeared from under him and he was falling into a yawning abyss of solitude and loneliness. He was on his own. He had no friends, only enemies. _I told you so_, the voice gloated. _Malfoys don't do friends._

"I have to get out of here," he muttered. He didn't know where he could go, but anywhere was better than here. He got up, brushed past Hermione, and headed for the door.

"Malfoy, wait! Malfoy! _Draco_!" Hermione called after him. He stopped as he heard his first name.

"You don't have to pretend to like me any more, you know," he told her bitterly. "Why didn't you tell me in the first place? Hermione, I thought you liked me. I thought we were _frien_ds." He hated the plaintive childish note than came into his voice as he said this, but refused to back down as he stared at her face.

She looked at him helplessly. "It's not that I don't like you, it's just that… look, I didn't get on with you very well before, and it's difficult to look at you and not see what you used to be like."

Draco shook his head. "I can't stay here. I'm leaving."

"But you don't know anyone! Where will you go?"

"I don't know. But anywhere will be better than here. I'd prefer to stay somewhere where people don't hate me before I step in the door."

"But--"

He ignored her and opened the door. He was so caught up that he didn't look where he was going, and crashed into someone standing just outside. He apologized and went to hurry on. A hand caught a grip of steel on his arm.

"Where are you off to, boy?" a hoarse voice growled. Draco looked around and saw a man so scarred, he looked as if he'd been cut into pieces and then put back together rather untidily. He had one vividly blue eye which was now fixed on the petrified Draco. His mind raced wildly. How could he get away from this creepy old man? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry come out of the house. Relief leapt inside him. Maybe Harry could get rid of the madman for him. A wave of dismay broke over him as he saw Harry's face break into a genuine smile.

"Moody!"


	6. Decisions, Decisions

Hermione stood in the kitchen, her mind in turmoil. It was no use; Malfoy would have to be told who he really was. He knew too much for them to hide it any more. She silently cursed Fred. If it wasn't for him, Malfoy could still live in ignorance. Now, he would probably get his memory back and – _Hang on_, she thought, _why does that upset me? Do I like Malfoy the way he is?_. She suddenly realised that she did. Or at least, she preferred him like that to what he was normally like.

She heard loud voices outside. Looking around, she saw that everyone else had left the room. She had been so absorbed in her soul examining she hadn't even noticed. She hurried out after them.

The bright sunlight outside reminded her painfully of her argument with Ginny earlier that day. It hurt her eyes after the dim light of inside the house. It was a moment before her eyes adjusted and she could see who was there.

Moody was standing in front of the house, talking to Harry. He had Malfoy's arm in a firm grip. Malfoy was looking apprehensively at him. He saw Hermione and his face lit up. He motioned wildly at Moody, his eyes begging her to do something. She sighed with exasperation. He always expected her to help him. He knew her only two days and yet he trusted her implicitly. _That's sort of sweet_, a little voice whispered in her head. She stopped dead in her tracks, horrified. _Sweet?_ That was one word that should never be used anywhere near a Malfoy. _But Malfoy now isn't really Malfoy then_, the voice responded. After working this out, she finally conceded. But this was only a temporary state… wasn't it?

"Hermione!" hissed Malfoy. She immediately rushed over to Moody.

"Professor, could you let him go please?" she asked tentatively. Moody glanced at Malfoy as if he'd just remembered he was there, and released Malfoy. He leapt back, massaging his arm where Moody had had an iron grip, and smiled gratefully at Hermione.

"Hermione, over here!" She turned and saw Tonks waving at her. She waved back and walked over to her. Malfoy trailed behind her uncertainly.

"How are you? I haven't seen you in ages!" Tonks exclaimed. She noticed Malfoy standing awkwardly behind Hermione. "And who's this?" She winked at Hermione. "Is he your-"

"This is Draco Malfoy," Hermione supplied quickly. Tonks thought he was her _boyfriend_?! Now that was a nasty thought. _Weeell_, the voice whispered, _if you think about it as the new him_ … She groaned internally and shut down that line of thought.

Tonks' smile had snapped off when Hermione told her who Malfoy was. She looked at him with barely concealed dislike. Startled by such blatant hostility, he stepped back.

"So he's the reason we're meeting here," Tonks mused. "We were told you'd found a young Death Eater. What potion did you give him?"

"Potion?" repeated Hermione, bewildered.

"Yes, a potion. Since he's not trying to kill anyone or escape I presume you've given him something."

"What's a Death Eater? And why would I want to kill anyone?" Malfoy interrupted. Tonks stared at him in amazement.

"Wow, must have been a really strong potion!"

"No, no. He lost his memory. It's a long story," Hermione added as Tonks opened her mouth to speak, a questioning look in her eyes. Another loud crack split the air. Startled, they turned to see who the new arrival was. Tonks' face broke into loving smile as Lupin strode towards them. He greeted them cordially before turning his attention to Malfoy. Hermione noticed that Tonks slipped her hand into his, and he made no effort to move away.

"Mr. Malfoy," greeted Lupin politely.

"Oh… yeah… hi," Malfoy mumbled, looking bemused at all these sudden arrivals. Lupin nodded briskly to everyone before marching into the house. Several more members of the Order Apparated in rapid succession. They waved vaguely at Hermione and Malfoy before following Lupin inside. Hermione hurried over to Harry.

"What is everyone doing here? I thought the Burrow was too suspicious to be used as a meeting place!" she hissed. Harry shrugged wearily. He still looked exhausted from his sleepless night.

"It's to do with Malfoy. I think they're trying to decide whether or not to tell him his life story," he said in a tired voice. "Come on, we'd better go inside." Hermione followed him wordlessly, Malfoy keeping close to her side.

Once inside the kitchen, Ron leapt up from the chair he was sprawled in with an outraged expression on his face.

"They won't let us in!" he announced indignantly. "They're discussing Malfoy- who we know best out of them- and they've locked us out! They even put a Repelling charm on the door so we can't use the Extendable Ears!" Fred nodded glumly from the other side of the kitchen table.

"Disgraceful. You'd think they couldn't trust us!" he declared. Hermione wondered how he could possibly keep such a straight face as he said this. Malfoy suddenly spoke up from behind her (he was trying to keep her between himself and the twins).

"Why are they talking about me? Are they-" He stopped abruptly and stepped forward as a thought seemed to strike him. "Am I going to find out who I am?" His pale face lit up with hope.

"Yeah, lucky you," Ron muttered, flopping back down on a chair. Malfoy threw him a dirty look and sat down.

Time seemed to stretch on forever. No one wanted to leave, but there was absolutely nothing to do. Silence reigned supreme; even the slightest sound such as the rustling of clothes as someone changed position seemed to echo around the room. Not a murmur came from the living room, where the Order were; a Silencing Charm had apparently been placed on the door.

Hermione's head was filled with restless thoughts. She yearned to know what the Order had decided about Malfoy. After all, he'd learnt so much already, it was pointless to keep him in the dark any longer. She turned her head and looked at him. He was slumped on the table, his head resting on his arms. She suddenly realised that she'd never actually looked properly at him before. He was just Malfoy, an obnoxious bully who did his best to make her life a misery. She studied him closely, fascinated by all the things she'd never noticed before.

He was pale, of course. His hair was so blonde it was almost white. If she didn't know better she would have thought it bleached. She suppressed a laugh at the thought of Malfoy bleaching his hair. It was long, but not in an attractive way. It hung from his face in unkempt straggly locks. As she watched, he swept it back in frustration. His face deathly white, and the bruises from the night before stood out starkly on his brow, their dark purple contrasting sharply with his nearly bloodless skin. His eyes were a light grey, but she was startled by the difference in them; they were no longer cold and unfriendly, but sincere and trusting. He caught her staring at him and tried to smile. She hurriedly glanced away until his gaze had left her. He was clearly worried, and so he should be. His future rested on the decision that was being made in the next room. He bit his lip, staring at the worn table with unseeing eyes. She looked at him in some concern. She hadn't noticed before how thin he was. His t-shirt hung from his scrawny frame in baggy folds, and his collarbone protruded sharply. A small detail caught her eye suddenly. Puzzled, she began to peer closer.

"Why are you looking at Malfoy like that?" a voice whispered softly in her ear. She jumped at the interruption and turned her head to see Harry, his bright green eyes regarding her quizzically.

"I was just thinking," she whispered back. "If the Order decide to tell him, he'll probably get his memory back. And then this Malfoy will go, and the other Malfoy will come back, and I just want to remember Malfoy the way he is now." A look at Harry's face told her that he hadn't followed a word of that. She sighed in exasperation.

"It's okay, I know what you mean. I think," Harry added. She smiled, and opened her mouth to reply. At that moment the door to the living room opened and Lupin entered the kitchen. All leapt to their feet, eager for some information. However, he merely nodded to them and set off briskly out into the garden. A loud crack a moment later told them he had apparated.

The room burst into a buzz of conversation. Everyone was wondering what had happened in the room next to them. Fred tried the Extendable Ears again, to no avail.. However, their curiosity did not have to wait for long. Lupin reappeared twenty minutes later with a Pensieve. Everyone crowded round him as he came inside. He fended off their eager questions, looking exasperated.

"I'll answer your questions in a minute," he told them, his voice nearly rising to a shout as he struggled to make himself heard over the clamour. He set the Pensieve down on the table. "Mr. Malfoy, please come with me." All eyes turned to Malfoy. He stood up somewhat shakily, and walked over to Lupin. They headed straight for the living room. Malfoy stopped in the doorway.

"Goodbye," he said to Hermione, trying to smile and failing. Fear and trepidation were written all over his face. She returned his smile and watched as he walked in to the room. She wondered why his goodbye had had such a sense of finality to it, as if that was the last time they would ever see each other. With a sudden shock, she realised that for him as he was now, it would be. She was astonished to find a tinge of sadness entering her heart. Did she like Malfoy that much? No, she decided, it was just in comparison to his former self. Definitely.

She heard the door close quietly again and looked up. Lupin had come in again. He strode over to the Pensieve. They gathered around him, looking at him expectantly.

"I need you to find any memories you have of Malfoy. Anything at all will do. Hopefully something will spark him off and he'll return to normal."

"How do we take out a memory?" asked Ginny.

"Like this," Lupin replied. He put his wand to his own head and withdrew a pearly white threadlike material. He added it to the Pensieve carefully, which swirled about, casting faint shadows on Lupin's drawn face.

Hermione concentrated hard, trying to remember all her encounters with Malfoy. None of them had been very pleasant. Her cheeks flamed as she thought of the 'new' Malfoy seeing her with walrus-like teeth. She gritted her teeth and placed the memory in the Pensieve. Everyone else had similar looks of concentration on their faces. Ron grimaced. Hermione empathised with him; like her, few of his encounters with Malfoy had been enjoyable. Behind Ron, Harry was quietly conversing with Lupin. From his expression, Hermione judged Harry wasn't too happy about something.

After half an hour of racking their brains, Lupin finally decided he had enough. He levitated the Pensieve off the table. Hermione opened the door in to the living room for him. She heard Moody firing off questions at Malfoy, but the door swung shut before she could pick up any more. She sighed heavily.

"What's wrong Hermione?" Ron asked curiously. "You've been really quiet since you arrived, and you haven't mentioned schoolwork once!" She threw him a dirty look

"I'm not completely obsessed with school you know!" she snapped crossly. Before their bickering could escalate into anything more, Harry stormed past them into the garden, slamming the door violently behind him. Hermione and Ron exchanged worried looks and ran to catch up with him.

The sun was still beating down, unusually strong for the English climate. Harry stomped off down the garden. Several gnomes scattered as he approached them. Stupid as they were, they could sense black moods. He threw himself down onto an old stone bench.

"Harry, are you feeling okay?" Hermione asked hesitantly. He was reminding her forcefully of when he was fifteen, and raging about being kept in the dark about the Order's doings.

Harry didn't reply for several minutes. He raised his head suddenly and looked at Hermione, his eyes blazing. "Didn't I tell you this would happen?"

Confused, she glanced at Ron, who spoke up. "What d'you mean Harry?"

"Malfoy!" Harry leapt to his feet and began pacing angrily up and down. "Lupin just told me we're going to have to guard him. It'll be our _special task_." He spat the words out bitterly. "They don't want me to go after Voldemort–" Ron flinched "–or do anything except sit here!"

Hermione looked at him in despair. The anger and frustration radiated off him in all-destroying waves. She knew in heart and soul that the Order were trying to prevent Harry from carrying out his plans. But what could they do? Malfoy did need to be guarded once he got his memory back.

A sudden, unwelcome idea came to her. She frantically searched for some way around it, anything… but no. She sighed resignedly and broke in on Harry and Ron's rant about Malfoy– or at least, Harry ranting and Ron nodding in agreement.

"I have an idea," she said reluctantly. Harry and Ron ceased at once and looked at her with renewed hope. "There need only be one person guarding Malfoy. He's got no wand and Order members will be constantly in and out." She looked Harry straight in the eye. "I'll do it."

Ron immediately burst out with several loud protests. He gradually wound down as Harry continued to gaze at Hermione thoughtfully.

"Are you sure about this?" Harry asked her. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She wanted to scream _NO!_ She didn't want to be left with the abhorrent Malfoy while her best friends were possibly in mortal danger or in need of her help. She wanted to go with them, to do her best to defeat You-Know-Who.

"But-" Ron began furiously. Harry cut him off.

"I can't see any other way, Ron. I know that we might need Hermione, but otherwise we can't go at all." Ron shrugged in defeat, and flopped down beside Harry. For several minutes the only sound to be heard was the grunts of the gnomes as they scurried round the garden.

Hermione bit her lip worriedly. She knew her plan made sense, but nevertheless she knew she would spend the entire time fretting about them. For a moment indecision flitted across her mind. What if Harry and Ron really needed her? She knew far more spells than they did. Look at all the times before this that she had saved them – the Devil's Snare, for instance. If it wasn't for her, they would have been killed.

"Hey Harry!" Hermione looked up as the sound of Fred's voice drifted across the garden. Apprehension gripped her as she followed Harry and Ron inside the house. The atmosphere had relaxed a little. Members of the Order were shaking hands and pulling on cloaks in preparation to leave. Lupin called them over as they entered.

"We've just received an urgent message from Kingsley Shacklebolt," Lupin told them, shrugging on his cloak "Apparently one of Voldemort's spies has been discovered. We need to get down there as fast as we can. Until we return, you'll have to guard Malfoy. He may be dangerous in his disturbed state so be on your guard. Do _not_, under any circumstances, go into that room." He pointed towards the living room. Hermione looked at it thoughtfully, wondering whether Malfoy had remembered anything yet. Lupin handed Harry a key. "We'll be back as soon as we can." With that he strode out of the house. A loud _crack_ a second later told them he was gone. The rest of the Order did likewise and soon the house was empty save for Harry, Ron and Hermione. The twins and Ginny had gone to the village nearby.

Time stretched on. Hermione thought exasperatedly that no day had ever been as long as this one. Most of it had been spent waiting. Out of sheer boredom, she began a game of wizard chess with Ron. Harry paced up and down the room restlessly. It made her jittery even to watch him.

"This is going to take forever!" Harry said at last. Hermione looked up thankfully; her queen was being massacred by Ron's unholy bishop. "There's about six years worth of memories in that Pensieve. How long are we going to have to wait!"

"Time doesn't run normally in a Pensieve," Hermione replied, glancing at her watch. "He's been in there about two hours, so it shouldn't be much longer–" A small sound from the living room made her stop suddenly.

"Looks like your question has been answered Harry," Ron said briskly as he coolly slaughtered Hermione's last remaining knight. Harry nodded uneasily.

"What now though? We have the real Malfoy in there." Harry sat down on the chair beside Hermione. "Watch out for that- too late." Hermione groaned in frustration as Ron triumphantly placed his lethal queen in a position of unsurpassable power.

"Checkmate!" he crowed. Hermione sat back in her chair. She _hated_ losing. Yet somehow she couldn't concentrate tonight. She threw back her chair after a moment and marched across to the door into the living room. She listened carefully, straining for any sound from within.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Ron asked lazily from his sprawled position in his seat. "Even if Malfoy's finished with the Pensieve we still have to wait for the Order to come back."

"Quiet Ron!" Hermione snapped. She pressed her ear against the door, holding her breath. The Silencing charm had been removed, and she was sure she could hear someone … crying? She stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief. Why would Malfoy cry? She stood there, undecided as to whether or not she should do something.

"What is it, Hermione?" Harry called. He and Ron had started another game of wizard chess. She marched over to him and grabbed the keys from the table beside him. Ignoring his exclamation of protest and surprise, she strode back over to the door and jammed the key into the lock, twisting it sharply with shaking fingers. She wouldn't let herself stop to think in case she realised what a stupid thing she was doing. Taking a deep breath, she flung open the door and looked inside.

Whatever she had expected, it wasn't this.


	7. Revelations

Malfoy sat huddled in a corner of the silent room. The Pensieve lay innocently on the table beside him, casting an eerie light on the ceiling. His arms clasped his knees tightly, his head tucked into them as his shoulders shook silently. The crash of the door as it rebounded off the wall jolted him back from his misery. He leapt into a defensive crouching position, terror written across his face. When he saw Hermione's shocked face, he relaxed a little and struggled to his feet. He took a step towards her, but she drew back, clutching her wand tightly in her quivering hand as she pointed it shakily at him. An expression of hurt and sorrow crossed his face, and he halted.

"Hermione, I­­­–" he began, and then cut off to furiously brush away the tear tracks across his face. She stared at him incredulously. Malfoy _never_ called her by her first name. A terrible suspicion awoke in her.

"Malfoy, do you… remember?" she asked hesitantly. He looked at her, fresh tears brimming in his grey eyes.

"Hermione, I – I'm so sorry," he whispered. His voice broke suddenly and he dissolved in to tears. Huge sobs racked his body as he sank to the floor. Hermione looked at him, appalled. She knew that her suspicion was correct. Malfoy never apologised if he could help it, and he certainly never displayed his emotions so clearly. It had not worked. He still could not remember.

She knelt on the floor beside him, wondering how she could get him to stop. Gingerly, she reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Malfoy?" she said tentatively. There was no reply; if anything, he wept harder. She cast a glance of helpless despair to Harry and Ron, who were standing in the doorway, in shock at the sight of Malfoy crying. They backed off, with expressions that clearly said: you're on your own here. Sighing exasperatedly, she turned back to Malfoy. "Draco?" she whispered gently. That seemed to do the trick. His sobs gradually abated as he sat up properly and turned to face her.

"Sorry about this," he muttered, scrubbing at his tear-stained face. "It's just kind of a shock, you know, to find out that I'm – I'm… not a nice person," he finished lamely. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but then realised that he was right; Draco Malfoy was the furthest from being a nice person as it was possible to be.

"I can't believe I would do anything like that. I'm a bully, and a coward, and–" He broke off suddenly and took a few deep breaths. Hermione could see he was on the verge of tears and hurriedly forestalled him.

"No, no you're not," she said in what she hoped was a consoling voice. He threw her a disbelieving glance. "Well, maybe you were. But not now! Since you've lost your memory, you've been so much better. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Oh… oh yeah, definitely," Harry said, still staring in incredulity at him. He and Ron had edged inside the room and were staring at Malfoy in horrified fascination. Malfoy took a deep, shuddering breath and stood up. He turned to Harry and looked him straight in the eye.

"I just want to say that- that I'm really sorry for all the things I've done to you. To you both," he added, glancing at Ron. "From what I just saw, I've done some horrible things to you all. But–" his voice became pleading "– please believe me when I say that I'm not like that now. None of that seemed familiar to me at all!" Hope suddenly lit up his tear-stained face. "Are you _sure_ it's me? Couldn't it be someone who looks like me?" His face fell as they all shook their heads.

Low, anxious voices drifted in from outside the room. They rose suddenly in a sharp crescendo as the open door came into view. Lupin's worried face cautiously emerged into the room, his wand held at the ready. His eyebrows flew up as he saw all four of them standing together in the middle of the room.

"What happened to not coming into this room?" he said, folding his arms and glaring at them sternly. Hermione shifted sheepishly as Ron and Harry shot her pointed stares.

"Well, you see, I…" her voice trailed off as Lupin waved his hand impatiently.

"You can explain later. I presume Mr. Malfoy has not recovered?"

They shook their heads mutely. Lupin nodded curtly and strode out of the room. Hermione heaved a sight of relief as he left. Something must have gone wrong. Lupin was _never_ so abrupt with them. Her brow furrowed in worry as she followed the others out of the gloomy room.

* * *

Draco stared at his pale reflection in the dusty mirror before him. Steam still filled the air from his recent shower, misting over the smooth glass. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he swept his damp hair back from his face. Pale grey eyes stared back at him mockingly.

"That can't be me," he whispered despairingly, his breath clouding the glass. A week had passed and still he could not accept his identity. He couldn't really be who he had seen in the Pensieve. But identical features looked back at him in the mirror, daring him to believe otherwise. He groaned miserably. No wonder Hermione avoided him. No wonder the twins had tormented him. No wonder he had been met with hostility and hatred wherever he went.

"I don't want to be you," he said in a low voice to his reflection. "I don't want to be Draco Malfoy." Inspiration came to him suddenly. He might not be able to change who he was, but he could alter his appearance so that he no longer looked like Draco Malfoy. He hunted about for a moment in the small, if immaculately clean, bathroom. After several minutes intensive searching, he leapt up, triumphantly brandishing a pair of scissors.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" said a puzzled voice from behind him. He turned slowly to see Hermione standing in the doorway, a quizzical expression on her face. He felt suddenly awkward and lowered the scissors.

"I was going to…. I was going to cut my hair," he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. Hermione was still staring at him, but this time with amusement. He wished he could be wearing something other than Harry's grubby t-shirt and a pair of jeans he had borrowed from Ron. _What does it matter anyway?_ he thought gloomily. _She hates me already_. "I just want to look different. Every time I look in the mirror, I see him – I mean me –doing something horrible."

Hermione took a few steps closer to him. His heart started to beat faster in his chest at her proximity. "You don't need to cut your hair to look different," she told him. She was breathing quickly from suppressed excitement. He looked at her, puzzled. "Your hair," she explained, stretching out her hand and touching a lock of his hair gently. He started at her touch and she withdrew her hand quickly, her cheeks colouring slightly. "Look!" She pushed him over to the mirror.

"What? I can't see anything different." He peered at his reflection, but everything was depressingly the same. She sighed impatiently.

"Look at your roots!" she exclaimed. Deciding he would humour her, he scrutinized the roots of his hair.

"What about them? They're– He stopped suddenly and looked closer. _That can't be right!_

"They're dark," she said, with some satisfaction. "Your hair is bleached! I noticed it last week when we were waiting for the Order to decide what to do with you. Turn around." He obeyed, turning to look her in the face. She took out her wand and rapped him hard on the head with it, muttering something under her breath as she did so.

"Ouch!" He leapt back, crashing painfully into the washbasin behind him. "Why did you do that?" he asked reproachfully, rubbing his aching head. There was no answer. He glanced at her, preparing to reiterate his question.

Hermione was staring at him as if he had grown an extra head. Shock and sadness shone in her brown eyes. He turned apprehensively to the mirror to see what horror had occurred.

His eyes widened. Instead of the usual blonde, his hair had turned black. The paleness of his face contrasted sharply with it, making him appear almost ghostlike.

"What did you do?" he asked her in delight. "I look completely different."

"I…" Hermione shook herself, trying to regain her composure. "I restored the natural colour of your hair. But why did you change its colour at all? Since when do Malfoy's have black hair?" She frowned, perplexed.

Draco shrugged unconcernedly. "You're asking me? I can't even remember my parents' names."

"Lucius and Narcissa," she mumbled distractedly, biting her lip as she stared at him. He shook his head despairingly.

"What is it with my family and strange names?" He smiled at her hopefully, wishing she would smile back. He didn't know why she had suddenly become so important to him. _After all, she's just a Mudblood_. He caught his thoughts suddenly, anger rising in him. He hated these half-remembrances, taunting him with mysterious snippets about his unwanted past. Especially now that he would never find the full truth about himself. Not that he wanted to; he never wanted to become that person he had seen in the Pensieve again.

"Hermione," he said, steeling his nerves. "I was thinking, would you – could you call me Draco instead of Malfoy? I mean, I'm never going to get my memory back now, and it would be another difference between me and him – I mean the other me," he finished hurriedly, shaking his head in confusion.

He eyes widened. "I suppose so," she said uncertainly. "I'll tell the others to, if that's what you want." Something he had said seemed to strike her suddenly. "Wait, Mal– Draco, did you say you'll never get your memory back?" He nodded, wondering why this was suddenly significant. "That's not true. You could remember your life at any time. The smallest thing could jolt it back. Apparently, you performed the charm with strength, which is why all your memory is gone, but without precision or technique. Basically, it won't take much to bring your memory back. The Order is surprised it hasn't happened already."

Draco stared at her, horrified. A cloak of dread settled on his thin shoulders, fastened with bonds of grief. He was living on borrowed time. At any moment he, the person he was now, could be lost as memories came flooding back. He would lose his identity; he would lose all he had learnt in the past nine days; he would lose Hermione. For some reason, everything else paled before this last.

* * *

Hermione led the way down to the crowded kitchen for dinner, frantic thoughts clamouring for attention in her muddled brain. Behind her, Malfoy – _No, Draco_, she reminded herself – trooped after her a little reluctantly. He constantly sought out her company, avoiding everyone else since he had made an apology to each and every one of them the day he had discovered the monster he had been before. She had difficulty now in reconciling the Draco she had known before, and the person he had now become. They were so inconceivably different.

_You're just trying to avoid the real issue here_, a frenzied voice screamed at her. She winced; even in her own head she wasn't safe from interruption. She hurried on in to the noisy kitchen, Draco trailing after her.

The noise vanished as if cut by a knife. Across the room, heads turned, bodies froze, faces fixed in sudden disbelief as everyone's gaze was wrenched to Draco. A fragile atmosphere of tense shock existed momentarily in the soundless room, an atmosphere which even the most daring would hesitate to break for fear of the tumult it could cause.

Draco looked at all the dumbfounded faces staring at him intently.

"What?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders self-consciously.

At once, the atmosphere was shattered. A buzz of excited conversation sprang up once more. Hermione slid into a seat next to Harry, Draco taking the seat next to her. The tension in the room was dissolved completely as the food arrived, and ravenous hands began ladling it out onto waiting plates.

"Hermione, why is everyone still staring at me?" Draco muttered, picking up his fork and gazing suspiciously around the table. "I know my hair is different, but it's not that big a deal."

"You – you look a little like someone we used to know." Hermione glanced at Harry beside her. His face was pale, and he was stabbing his food as if it was in league with Voldemort. Sympathy welled up in her. She switched her stare to Draco. It was uncanny how much he now resembled Sirius. It wasn't an exact likeness; Draco's face was too pointed, his skin too pale; but with similar black hair and grey eyes, they looked enough alike that Draco could pass for a younger Sirius.

Hermione sighed, poking listlessly at her laden plate. Nothing had gone right for her this summer, from fighting with Ron to unwittingly causing everyone extra grief by providing a constant reminder of yet another lost friend.


	8. Flying, Falling

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your support! If you have any questions, comments, want to know when I'll be updating , have a look at my LJ (the link is on my author's page).  
**

Grey light filtered dimly through the thin curtains, illuminating a narrow, poky room where three boys slept. Draco rolled over, keeping his eyes tightly shut. He shifted his position, trying unsuccessfully to find a spot on the floor that wouldn't afford him so much discomfort.

He gave up at last. Every bit of the floor was as hard and unyielding as the rest. Sighing, he swept his hair out of his eyes. Dark hair. He had found it slightly disturbing when Hermione had told him about his uncanny resemblance to that dead person, who had another strange name – Siriun, or something like it.

For the umpteenth time, powerful curiosity overwhelmed him about the boy whose body he shared. He could no longer reconcile himself to the fact that they were one and the same person. Their personalities were completely alien. There were i absolutely /i no similarities between them. None at all.

He had so many questions about the other boy. Why did he bleach his hair? It didn't make any sense. What was that mark on his arm? He looked at it again, the black skull grinning at him, taunting him for his ignorance. None of the memories in the Pensieve had explained that. But the question that puzzled him more than all the others was: _why did he hate Hermione_?

Draco couldn't see how anyone could hate her. She was funny, kind, patient and beautiful. All right, she wasn't beautiful, but her smile was. Hermione was the only person he felt he could really trust, in this world which was so unfamiliar to him. Part of him wanted to tell her this, but he was too afraid of her reaction. What if she just looked at him, with her brown eyes full of revulsion? It would ruin everything. No, he could never tell her. It was all the other boy's fault. If it wasn't for him, then Hermione wouldn't already hate him, before she had even met him. And the thought that one day he, the person he was now, could just vanish and be replaced by_ him_… it was unbearable. He felt as if a death sentence had been imposed on him, but he had no way of knowing when it would fall.

Further sleep would be impossible, with these disturbing thoughts. Stretching his stiffened muscles, he reached up to the camp bed by his side and poked Harry's sleeping figure. No reaction. He poked harder. Harry grunted and rolled over on the camp bed. Rolling his eyes, Draco punched his arm.

"_What_?" Harry finally opened his eyes and looked at Draco, frowning sleepily. Draco rolled his eyes again and pointed to his throat. Silencing Charms may have made everyone else happy by guaranteeing them a night uninterrupted by screams, but they were just a pain for Draco.

Grumbling, Harry climbed out of bed and began scrabbling about for his wand. Draco waited impatiently. He wondered suddenly if he had a wand, and if so, where it was. He would have to ask Hermione later. He heard a Harry mutter a spell, and a second later his throat tingled, telling him the Silencing Charm was gone.

"Thanks." In the near-silent room, this came out much louder than he had expected. A pillow hit him in the back of the head.

"Shut u_p_, Malfoy," Ron moaned as he burrowed still deeper under the blankets. Draco threw the pillow back at him.

"Shut up yourself! Come on, we'll miss breakfast." As he trooped down the stairs ahead of them, he reflected on how his relationship with Harry and Ron, and indeed everyone in the house, had changed so much after the Pensieve incident. For some reason, his apologies had made them realise that he wasn't the other boy any more. The twins still didn't like him very much, but they no longer took every opportunity to make his life miserable.

* * *

Hermione scribbled furiously on the parchment, her attention fully on the essay she had nearly completed. Intent on her work, she hardly noticed Draco slipping into the room.

"What are you doing?" Hermione jumped, knocking the bottle of ink over the parchment. Sighing in exasperation, she began to siphon it off with her wand. Draco sat down in the armchair opposite hers, watching her silently. Rain spattered fitfully against the window, the whistling wind giving it little chance to truly drench the outside.

"What are you doing?" Draco repeated. Hermione finally managed to get the parchment tolerably clean.

"This is homework from the summer. Or at least, it _was_." Draco looked suitably remorseful at this, so she forgave him.

"I thought you weren't going back to school." He leaned over and began to flick through her _Advanced Guide to Transfiguration_. "Ron told me," he added as she looked at him suspiciously.

"Just because I probably won't be attending school in September doesn't mean that I should slack!" she informed him, seizing her book back He stared at her, eyebrows almost disappearing into his dark hair.

"So you are doing extra, completely unnecessary work," he said slowly, as if trying to comprehend this.

"Some of this is very important! What if we were fighting You-Know-Who and we needed a spell like -"

"Like a Hair-thickening Charm?" Draco leaned forward, trying to read another book upside down. "What if you were fighting a bald man? Does it work on nose hair?"

Hermione slammed the book shut. "If you want something, Draco, spit it out. Otherwise, let me study in peace." Her voice could have frozen the sun.

"Okay, sorry, I'll be quiet." He grinned at her impishly as she threw him a sceptical look. There was silence for a few minutes, and Hermione tried to concentrate on work. It was almost impossible when she had a bored Draco sitting across from her, swinging his legs idly. His foot kept hitting the leg of the chair with an irritating thud. Hermione felt ready to scream with frustration.

"I'm bored." Hermione slowly breathed out, carefully releasing her fingers from her now badly crushed quill. Draco was sprawled in the chair, looking glumly at her.

"Hey Hermione, Draco, the rain has stopped. Want to come out for a game of Quidditch?" Harry called from the doorway, Firebolt slung over his shoulder. Hermione almost collapsed with relief; even though she knew that Harry was only teasing her, it at least meant she could get rid of her companion. Draco looked at Harry quizzically.

"What's Quidditch?"

Harry looked aghast. "Quidditch is…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Hermione rolled her eyes. The disbelief in Harry's face that anyone could forget about Quidditch was evident.

"Harry, if he can't remember You-Know-Who, how can you expect him to remember a ridiculous sport?" Harry frowned at the jibe to his beloved sport, but accepted what she said.

"I'll show you, if you want," he offered. Draco shrugged and followed him outside.

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief as the two boys left. The atmosphere in the Burrow and certainly relaxed a lot since Draco had made his round of apologies, but it was still a little uncomfortable for her to spend a lot of time with the former bully. She certainly preferred the 'new' Draco; he could be very sweet and – _What?_. She caught up with her own thoughts. Draco might have changed, but she needed to keep in mind that it was only temporary, however much she wished it wasn't. She buried herself in the books, drowning out the rest of those disturbing thoughts.

* * *

Draco eyed the broomstick Harry was proffering him apprehensively. Its remaining bristles were frayed and broken, and he could see splinters lurking in the old wood, just waiting for an unwary rider.

"So you want me to sit on that… _thing_… and fly it around the house, at dangerous heights, with only your guarantee that it won't collapse while I'm up there?"

Harry nodded, his own glossy, top-of-the-range broomstick resting on the damp grass beside him. Draco scowled at him. Shoving the broom into Draco's hands, he slid astride his own with a practiced air.

"I don't even know how to fly!" he protested.

"'Course you do. You are – were – the Seeker for the Slytherin team," Ron called as he alighted from his slow loop of the field. "Ready to go?"

Draco watched, nervousness building in the pit of his stomach as Harry kicked off, with Ron in hot pursuit. Cautiously, he swung his leg over the rickety broom, his hands tightening until his knuckles were white. Gritting his teeth, he launched himself into the air, expecting the broom to careen downwards at the first opportunity.

Incredulity spread through him, as the broom drifted gracefully upwards. His body adjusted automatically as he soared through the air. It felt natural, as if he had been doing it his entire life. For the first time that he could remember, all uncertainty left him. He knew who he was, where he was what he was doing. He was Draco, on a broom, flying. That was all that mattered right now.

"Not bad," Harry called. "See if you can catch this!" He tossed a tennis ball towards him. Barely thinking, Draco turned his broom and dived downwards, coaxing speed from the decrepit broomstick that it didn't know it had. Bits of twigs snapped off as he went, but he continued regardless, and caught the ball three feet from the ground. Ron gave an admiring shout, then sped off as Draco flung the tennis ball past him.

* * *

Hermione ate her dinner quietly, only half listening to the Quidditch debate that was raging over her head. Draco and Ron were engaged in a friendly argument over the merits of side braking, with Harry interjecting knowledgeably every few minutes.

Fred and George arrived in halfway through dinner, their faces uncharacteristically grim. Hermione's eyes followed them as they spoke to Mr. Weasley, who was slumped in a chair at the end of the table, exhaustion evident in his worn face. However, fatigue was soon replaced by alarm. He sat up straight and began talking in a low, urgent voice to the twins. Hermione gathered from their intent expressions that this was no trivial matter. A Mr. Weasley got up from the table and followed the twins out of the room.

"But if you do it like that, you can slew sideways and crash!" exclaimed Ron, growing more passionate as the argument escalated. Harry protested loudly, thumping his fist on the table for emphasis.

"I wonder what's going on," Hermione mused aloud. The three boys' heads turned as one, faces knitting into almost identical expressions of puzzlement. She sighed in exasperation.

"Weren't you paying attention?" Their sceptical looks clearly said: do we ever? Ignoring them, she continued, "Something is obviously wrong with the twins. They left to talk to Ron's dad."

"Fred and George were here? When?" asked Ron, ginger eyebrows shooting up. Hermione nearly screamed in frustration.

"Just… oh, boys!" she huffed. She stood up, almost knocking over her chair, and marched out of the room. Behind her, she heard Ron say, "What's wrong with her?" Sudden tears sprang to her eyes as a sense of unassailable loneliness came over her. Why couldn't Harry and Ron just listen to her? She hated feeling like this, as if she was in a different world to the two boys. They were her best friends, of course, but she just wished they understood her better.

She stepped outside into the cooling air. The sun was setting, casting a strange half-light over the area. Even the gnomes were silent, sleeping in their burrows after a hard day avoiding hurtling tennis balls. Hermione leaned against the rough wall of the house and gave herself up to a bout of self-pity.

Eventually she stirred, hearing footsteps approaching the door from inside the house. Feeling much calmer after allowing herself that piece of melodrama, she quickly wiped away all traces of misery as best she could, before turning to meet whoever it was.

Draco's grey eyes met hers, full of concern. She tried her best to smile, but she had a feeling that he saw through it.

"What's wrong?" he asked simply. Hermione laughed humourlessly.

"What's wrong? Apart from the fact that one of my best friends is being hunted by the most feared Dark wizard of all time, who is also attempting world domination and a reign of indescribable horror and cruelty, people being murdered every day and my worst enemy suddenly turning up, everything's wonderful! Just perfect, Malfoy!" He winced at the name, but said nothing. For a few moments, there was silence, each person battling with their inner demons. Finally, Draco began to speak.

"Hermione, I want you to know– " he began falteringly. She started to speak at the same time, and he inclined his head, indicating that she should speak first. She smiled tremulously at his gentility, and continued.

"Everything has changed so much. Less than three years ago, I had so few worries. Even last year, after You-Know-Who had come back, wasn't as terrifying. It was a heartbreaking year, but I actually felt at the end that we had a chance. Ron hurt me so much that year, but I thought, at Dumbledore's funeral, that he really did like me. I knew I liked him. But then we had to break up. We did have to, so we could help Harry properly. Wasn't that the right thing to do?" She turned to him, painfully aware of the desperate appeal in her voice.

The look on his face took her aback. He opened his mouth a few times, but closed it without saying anything. She wondered worriedly what had upset him so much.

"Draco, are you all right?" she asked with a frown. He visibly took hold of himself, and regained his composure.

"What was it you were going to say to me?" she inquired, suddenly full of curiosity.

"We'd – we'd better go inside," he managed eventually, suiting his words by hurrying in the door. Hermione thought he almost ran.

* * *

Draco avoided any invitations to talk, wanting only to be alone to order his thoughts. The stairs creaked and groaned as he ascended them slowly. He could hear voices downstairs calling out to each other, their happiness in antithesis to his mood. He prepared for bed mechanically, refusing to let a single thoughts enter his head until he had lain down in his sleeping bag on the rigid wooden floor. Only then did he open the floodgates and allow the torrent of thoughts to enter his mind.

He had been so close to telling her; just a few more words, and she would have known. He had felt so close to her, out in the garden. She had taken him into her confidence, spoken to him as someone she trusted. It had overcome his reservations in the end. He had been prepared to let her know her how he felt, but then providence had intervened. How could he have been so stupid? Of course she liked Ron. He was just thankful that she had interrupted him, or else he was sure his worst nightmare would have come true. It was ridiculous to think that she could ever feel that way about someone who used to be her worst enemy.

_But what if my memory comes back, and I never told her?_ The thought wormed its way into Draco's troubled mind. _What if_ he _acts as he used to before, and treats her badly?_. In his mind's eye, he could see his sneering self shouting at a bewildered and hurt Hermione. _I have to do something…_

Inspiration struck him like a bolt of lightning. He held his breath, trying to find any flaws in the plan. But no; it was perfect. He resolved to carry it out the very next day. His mind made up, he rolled over to sleep, for once not caring about the discomfort.


	9. Vile Visit

**A/N: Thanks a million to my utterly amazing beta, Hatusu. There won't be any more updates until next year, as I want to keep the MNFF version as the first to get updated. Thanks for all your support, and if you're bored meanwhile, feel free to have a look at my other Dramione fic, Let A Serpent Sting Thee Twice! Laurelian, I answered all your questions on MNFF, thanks for the constructive criticism.**

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, yawning until she felt her jaw would crack. Unwilling to move from her warm cocoon, she stayed in bed a few minutes longer. A low hum of sound drifted up through the floorboards, with one voice occasionally rising above the rest. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that it was only eight o'clock. However, further sleep was impossible with all the hubbub from downstairs. Reluctantly, she swung her feet onto the smooth grain of the polished floor. 

As she shuffled out of the door, sleep still weighing heavily on her, she cast a look over to the other occupant of the room. Ginny was visible only as a dark mound in the gloom. Hermione bit her lip as she turned and walked out. Ginny was still barely talking to her after their argument. But what could she do? Ginny was just as bad as Ron when it came to forgiving others.

Once she was dressed, she trooped downstairs, still worried over what to do about Ginny. However, she was to find no peace of mind there. Chaos reigned supreme; people rushed back and forth, steam billowed from the kitchen, voices cried over each other for attention. The result was uproar. Hermione stood on the last step and stared. She grabbed Draco's arm as he went past.

"Draco, what is going on?" she asked him, bewilderment evident in her voice.

"I'm not really sure," he replied in a confused tone of voice, "but I think some people are arriving soon. Mrs. Weasley's in a big panic." He hesitated, his eyes flickering downwards. She wondered suddenly why his normally pale cheeks had just a tinge of pink in them as he talked to her. She quickly dismissed it, putting it down as a result of the morning's busy activities.

"Hermione—" he began, not meeting her eyes.

At that moment Ron hurried up to them. "Hermione! Where have you been? Bill and Fleur are arriving in a few hours!"

Hermione's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "Is that what all the fuss is about?" She couldn't see how the impending arrival could throw the whole household into complete disarray. After all, Fleur had already seen the Weasley household in its everyday state; surely the clutter and clamour wouldn't take her aback now.

Ron shook his head impatiently. "No! They're bringing her parents with them!" He glanced around furtively, checking that there was no Mrs. Weasley around to pounce on him. "Mum's in an absolute frenzy. She's trying to get the whole house cleaned, make the lunch, and about a million other things besides."

A sudden indignant squawk made them all jump. "Ron Weasley! I _told_ you to go and get rid of those gnomes!"

"Yes, Mum," Ron muttered, before hastening to the garden. Mrs. Weasley turned on Draco, who shrank back a little from her beady gaze. "And you can go help him!" she told Draco. He nodded and rushed off after Ron, clearly relieved to be away from Mrs. Weasley's irritable presence. Hermione found herself suddenly alone. Before she could escape, Mrs. Weasley turned around and pounced on her.

"Hermione! I need you to help me in the kitchen." Mrs. Weasley turned and bustled off, irritated urgency emanating from her. Hermione sighed resignedly and trooped slowly after her, making a face at Ron as he waved at her smugly from outside. She was unable to suppress as a smile as he ducked to avoid a flying gnome.

"Sorry! Sorry!" The sound of Draco's frantic apologies followed her as she left the room.

The kitchen was like a scene from hell. Knives flew across the room, chopping everything in their path, pots bubbled and shrieked, the oven roared, water surged, and in the middle of it all was Mrs. Weasley, shrouded in steam. She stood as the mad conductor of a demonic orchestra; wand flying everywhere in a frenzied rush, and her hair stood out from her head like a murdered dandelion.

Hermione rushed to the sink and wrestled for control of the scrubbing brush, which was trying to clean her hair. She yanked it out, wincing as it took several bushy strands with it. She leaned across the sink and switched off the tap, ceasing the cascade of water down the side of the cupboards. As she forced the reluctant brush to clean the first of a tottering mountain of saucepans, she reflected that these visitors were decidedly more trouble than they were worth.

* * *

Several hours later, Draco surveyed the Weasley's gnome-free garden with satisfaction. It had not come without cost; he was nursing a nasty bite on his thumb, courtesy of his last gnome. Despite the cool wind that whipped the grass around him, sweat beaded on his forehead. He wiped it away with a grimy arm. Ron stood beside him, equally exhausted. He turned and gave Draco the thumbs-up. After hours of painful work, the last gnome had been evicted.

Ginny stuck her head out the door.

"They're here!" she hissed. Draco and Ron started inside, but Ginny stopped them in their tracks.

"Malfoy can't go. He has to hide upstairs." She planted herself firmly across the doorway, hands on hips, and expression of defiance on her freckled face.

"What? Why?" Draco asked, a sinking feeling beginning in his stomach.

"You're a wanted Death Eater," she said, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. "Need I say more?"

"What's a Death–" But Ginny and Ron had already left. Grumbling quietly to himself, Draco slipped inside and up the stairs.

He surveyed the utter squalor that was Ron's room with mild distaste. Sighing, he flopped down on the camp bed. It creaked ominously under him, and he hurriedly shifted his weight. A meaningless hum of polite conversation came from downstairs.

He hadn't even been up there five minutes, and already he was bored. The worst thing was, there were several things he could have done to occupy himself, but he was too bored to try any of them. He lay on his back on the treacherous bed, staring at a wandering spider on the ceiling. His mind ran in self-pitying circles as he contemplated the utter monotony of his situation.

His brain suddenly kicked back into action as something worthwhile to do finally came to mind. Without thinking, he swiftly swung himself into a sitting position on the bed. This proved too much for the ancient springs, which gave way, sending him crashing to the floor in a cloud of dust. Specks of rust settled gently in his dark hair as he sat in a dazed heap on the wooden floorboards.

Shaking his head, he staggered to his feet and over to Ron's desk. His plan! How could he possibly have forgotten? Feverishly, he hunted through the mess on Ron's desk for some parchment. He pounced on a stray piece and grabbed and old quill. Dipping it in a drying pot of ink, he began to write.

_Dear Hermione_…

* * *

Hermione leaned against the sink and sighed in relief. She inspected her hands ruefully. They were red and shrivelled, the result of several hours straight of washing up. Beside her, Ron moaned as he knuckled his stiff back. Harry had collapsed on a kitchen chair, his head on his arms.

"Where are Fred and George?" she asked, suddenly aware of their absence. Harry raised his head.

"Didn't you hear?" he asked curiously. She shook her head, bushy hair flying. "Their shop was attacked, probably be Death Eaters, and their assistant has vanished."

Ron handed her that morning's copy of _Daily Prophet_ wordlessly. From the front page screamed the headline _'WEASLEY WIZARD WHEEZES WHACKED!'_

Hermione stared numbly at it, unable to tear her eyes away from the cruel, insensitive words. The danger of their current situation hit home with a vengeance. Hurriedly, her eyes flickered on.

_U — NO — POO IS NO MORE_

_Yesterday morning, in a dramatic turn of events, the joke shop 'Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' was attacked. Shoppers arrived that morning to see the shop windows smashed in and products strewn around Diagon Alley…_

Hermione's heart crashed down, sending splinters of horror and fear throughout her body. She skimmed the page for concrete information.

_…according to Ministry Aurors, the attack took place some time during the previous night._

_"As far as we are concerned, this was simply a robbery, nothing more or less," a shady Auror told our intrepid reporter. He was unwilling to answer further questions._

_Several windows were broken, and the door smashed in, but only some wares were taken; many were simply broken as the shelves were ripped from the walls. These facts, coupled with the disappearance of the shop assistant, Verity Venceworth, lead this reporter to the conclusion that this was no 'simple robbery'. Rumours of Death Eater involvement were unconfirmed at the time of press._

Hermione tore her eyes away, forcing herself to look instead at the picture. Dour-faced Aurors sifted through the wreckage of what was once a focal point of joy and mischievousness. However, that was not the sight which upset her the most. Due to the strange angle of the photo, one thing stood out in the foreground. A small purple Pygmy Puff lay dead on the floor, pieces of broken glass surrounding its corpse. For some reason, the little body seemed to epitomise the sadness and loss of the situation.

"So this — this is what they were worried about last night," she managed at last. A split second later she kicked herself for pointing out the obvious and irrelevant. Ron merely nodded, his face grim. Hermione suppressed a shiver at the thought of what could have happened if the twins had been at the shop.

A shroud of silence hung over the room. Hermione wondered whether she should break it when Ginny flounced into the room.

"Mum wants you to go and meet _them_,"she told them, spitting the last word out as if was burning her lips.

"What are they like?" Ron asked as he mooched slowly over to the door. Ginny made a face.

"Even worse than Phlegm."

Hermione and Harry exchanged looks of alarm as they followed Ron out of the doorway. Hermione kept her eyes fixed on his tousled red hair as they all walked slowly to the sitting room door. Despite Ginny's warning, Ron seemed to be struggling to keep to his slow walk. _Fleur,_ Hermione thought with disgust.

The short, sharp bursts of conversation with long awkward silences heralded a room whose occupants had already discovered, in only the few minutes they had spent in each other's company, that there was mutual hatred between them. Ron glanced around at Harry and Hermione, waited for one of the quiet stretches, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

"Ron! Harry! Hermione!" cried Mrs. Weasley in tones of almost maniacal relief. "Meet Mr. — I mean, Mon-sewer and Mad-am Delacour. Monsewer and Madam, meet Ron, my youngest son, and his friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter — though you'll know all about him, of course," she twittered as she sat back, having finally managed to pass the burden of conversation onto others.

"Pleased to meet you," purred a voice. Hermione saw Harry's face turn puce as he gazed over her shoulder. Ron gaped, his mouth hanging open and eyes popping. A strangled noise came out of his throat, and his face burned with the fiery flames of embarrassment. Hermione turned in trepidation, wondering what creature of darkness could be lurking behind her.

She couldn't help the small gasp that escaped her lips. Lounging in one of the Weasley's shabby armchairs was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Even Fleur looked merely pretty beside her. Hair the colour of moonlight fell about her shoulders, draped in blue velvet robes that hinted at everything and revealed nothing. A sudden feeling of inferiority came over Hermione. _Who am I, to stand in the same room as this woman and presume to think myself equal_, she thought. She couldn't bear to look at the woman's face, choosing to lower her eyes to her own feet in their sensible black shoes. As her gaze left the woman, thoughts that had been struggling to be heard broke to the surface.

_Don't be such an idiot! Get a grip. Veela blood, remember?_ Hermione shook her head and snapped it up suddenly, determined to look the woman in the eye before she could be deterred. Dark blue eyes looked at the world from under long, thick lashes. As their eyes met, Hermione was sure she saw surprise flicker there before the mask of condescending superiority slid back into place.

"Pleased to meet you too," she said as loudly and clearly as she dared. Her voice seemed to startle Harry and Ron back from whatever unearthly realm they had been occupying. Suppressing a twinge of irritation, Hermione glanced over at the man sitting beside Madame Delacour.

Her first, amazed thought was, _Oh my God, he's gorgeous!_, before her more rational side cut in. He certainly _was_ good-looking, and his clothing reeked of opulence, but there was something about his face… a dazed, almost hypnotised look. His eyes suddenly flicked in her direction, but they seemed unable to fully focus on her — he appeared to be looking straight through her. Hermione shivered and looked away.

"Could you excuse me for a moment, if you please?" Mme Delacour asked, rising languorously from the chair. Her accent was slightly stilted, but other than that her English was perfect. Like her.

"Of — of course," Mrs. Weasley stammered, startled out of her momentary reverie. Mme Delacour barely waited for the assent as she swept gracefully out of the room.

"Well — well isn't this nice?" Mrs. Weasley said weakly.

"Where are Bill and Fleur?" Ron asked as he found an armchair. Harry and Hermione quickly followed suit.

"Fleur felt a little faint, so they've just gone outside for a breath of fresh air." Ron snorted disbelievingly, but was forced to turn it into a sneeze halfway through as Mrs. Weasley glared at him.

"I don't blame them for wanting to get away," Harry whispered above the noise of Ron choking. Hermione nodded fervently.

An unexpected sound caught her ears — she heard a floorboard creak above her. She frowned; Draco should know better than to be wandering around while there were strangers in the house.

"Mrs. Weasley, I have to get a — a book," Hermione explained, saying the first thing that came into her mind. She hurried out of the room before anyone had a chance to stop her.

_Stupid idiot!_ she thought angrily. He doesn't have the common sense of a —of a duck! She froze as she heard an unfamiliar noise up ahead. A faint _click — click — click _sounded from the hall. Hermione crept up the rest of the stairs carefully, avoiding the creaking step. She peered around the corner, only to see Mme Delacour skulking along the corridor. She stopped at a bedroom door and peered in. Hermione held her breath as she looked in her direction, but released it in a sigh of relief as she turned and headed up the next flight of stairs.

_I should have said something_, she thought as she walked slowly back down. _Harry would have, and so would Ron. Even Draco—_ She stopped suddenly. Draco! That woman would find him for sure! Without further thought, she whirled around and dashed up the stairs, tearing up until she saw Mme Delacour just ahead. The woman snatched her hand back from the handle to the door of Ron's room.

"Ah — Hermione! I was wondering, do you know where the — the bathroom is?" Her voice couldn't have held even a pebble, so slippery and smooth was it.

"It's… downstairs. By the … sitting room," panted Hermione. Her eyes didn't leave the other woman until she started down the stairs. Once she was sure she was gone, she rushed into Ron's room.

Draco was sitting in a corner at a rickety desk. His dark hair fell in front of his face as he concentrated. His head snapped up as she entered, and he snatched a sheet of paper from the table, his cheeks flushing a brilliant pink.

"Hermione! What are you doing—"

"Shh! There's no time," she whispered, her voice vibrating with urgency. "You have to lock this door, and don't make a sound, understand?" He nodded, his forehead creasing in a puzzled frown.

Hermione rushed out of the room and downstairs. So caught up was she that she didn't notice someone coming the opposite way. The ensuing collision almost knocked her off her feet.

"Hey! What's the rush?" Ron asked in surprise as he stretched out his hand to steady her. She regained her balance and quickly recounted to him what she had seen. His face darkened.

"I knew there was something funny about that woman," he muttered. His hands tightened until Hermione winced at the pressure on her arms.

"What can we do? We can't exactly walk in and accuse her!" Hermione's brow furrowed in concentration. Ron looked at her helplessly.

"Maybe—"

A loud gong-like sound filled the air. Hermione and Ron lifted their heads, startled. As the echoes gradually died away, Mrs. Weasley's magically magnified voice rang out.

"Dinner is ready!"

Hermione sighed in relief and ran down the stairs, Ron following right behind her. _At least now she won't be able to slip away so easily_, she thought with satisfaction.

* * *

Draco smiled in satisfaction as he scrawled his signature on the end. He sat back in his chair, allowing his aching, ink-spattered hands to rest. He could hear the sound of voices coming from outside, and was tempted to peep out the window, but thought better of it. He didn't know what had happened, but it had been enough to upset Hermione, so it obviously wasn't good.

His eyelids began to drift slowly shut, but he forced them open again. It was only about seven o'clock, for Merlin's sake! He got up from the chair, wincing painfully as he straightened his legs. He began to pace up and down the small room, trying to work the stiffness out of his bones. Eventually, he collapsed on the bed, exhausted. Sleep was out of the question, of course. He needed to stay awake to ask Hermione what had happened. He couldn't _possibly _fall asleep now…

A loud banging and rattling noise startled him from dreamless slumber. He sat up straight on the bed, nerves tingling in alarm.

"Draco! Hurry up and let us in! It's nearly eleven!" Draco relaxed as he recognised Ron and Harry's voices. He swung himself off the bed and unlocked the door, unable to stop an enormous yawn as the pair of them trooped in.

"So? What happened? What was wrong with Hermione?" he asked, fighting to keep the sleepiness from his voice.

Harry and Ron both started talking at once, their voices jumbled together. By the time he figured out what they were saying and grasped the implications of it, he was wide awake. None of them got much sleep that night.


	10. For Whom The Bell Tolls

**Author's Notes:**

Apologies (yet again) for the long delay. I have done some reconfiguring of the plot, and there is something in the first chapter you **must** read if this one is going to make sense. Thanks a million to Hatusu, my wonderful beta. If you want to keep an eye on future updates, see where I'm at with all my fics, or just confirm I haven't abandoned anything, you can have a look at my LJ. The link is on my author's page.

* * *

Draco's eyes stared up at the cracks in the ceiling. They itched with tiredness, but sleep refused to come.

_It's… a spider. No… a tiger… no; a lot of lines._

Bereft of distractions, his mind drifted back to the topic that denied him rest. He rolled over, grimacing as his bones grated on the wooden floor.

_Someone is looking for me_. But who? From what he'd gathered from the Pensieve, he was merely a rather obnoxious boy who'd dived in the deep end without learning how to swim. Why would anyone – especially a Death Eater (what kind of a name was that anyway?), as the others seemed to think that woman was – be interested in him?

_Is there something they're not telling me? Some secret about my past?_ he thought feverishly, his fingers picking at the fabric of the sleeping bag. _But no, they wouldn't… Hermione wouldn't... would she? _  
He ran his hand through his hair. _She kept my identity from me… but she was told to… does that make it right?_

She — and everyone else — had never told him what that mark meant. In fact, the subject was avoided completely. He glanced down at his arm. The skull's eyeless sockets seemed more malevolent than ever, fixing him with a stare that promised only pain.

_What about my fingesr?_ He absent-mindedly brushed his thumb across the smooth skin where his two fingers should have been. _No-one has ever explained that to me. No-one ever explains anything to me unless I ask first. I'm a prisoner in my own mind._

He shut his eyes. _Think of something else. Just get to sleep... count sheep, or something._

_One sheep… am I really in danger?_

_Two sheep... who from?_

_Three sheep... is Hermione, of all people, lying to me?_

_Four sheep... what about?_

_Five sheep... what should I do?_

_Six sheep... what can I do?_

_Seven sheep..._

_Who am I?_

The last thought lingered in his mind as he felt himself drift gently into sleep. Afraid to move or even think in case he interrupted his descent, he lay thoroughly at peace, forgetting even the stifling heat of the room.

_Sleep at last... _

A sound like the roaring of a chainsaw shattered the silence. Draco flew upwards with a pounding heart.

_They're here! Oh Merlin, they've come!_ he thought wildly, not even aware himself who 'they' were. The thump of blood in his ears lessened as he realised that the sound was, in fact, coming from someone in the room. Ron lay on his back, snoring so loudly Draco was sure he could see the roof shaking. Harry groaned and rolled over on his broken bed, burying his head under the pillow.

Draco gave up. He simply was not destined for sleep that night. The air was unpleasantly hot, and his shirt stuck to his chest in damp patches. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. _I've had enough of this,_ he decided. He threw the sweaty sleeping bag from him and clambered into a pair of jeans. Treading carefully so as not to wake the other occupants, he crept out of the door.

He took a deep breath, exchanging the unbearably stuffy air of the bedroom with the slightly fresher, though still humid, air of the hallway. His bare feet tread cautiously over the rough wooden floorboards, aware of every knot and grain. A kind of elation spread through him as he tested each step for creaks.

_Wow, look at me, I'm sneaking out,_ he thought, laughing at himself. He landed lightly on the hall floor and padded softly to the back door. He eased the latch upwards, tensing as it let out a sudden groan of complaint. There was no response from inside. Unexplainable excitement bubbled up inside him as he inched open the door and snuck outside.

The cool night air sent a wave of refreshment through him. His enjoyment of this new freedom was so great he didn't realise he was not alone in the garden.

"Draco? What are _you_ doing out here?" came a familiar voice. Draco spun around, a wave of self-consciousness attacking his composure.

"Well, I could ask you the same thing, Hermione," he managed, suddenly realising how scruffy he must look in a sweaty t-shirt and rumpled jeans.

Hermione relaxed a little and sat back down on the bench, tucking her hands into her dressing gown.

"I just came out for some air," he explained, walking over to her. "I couldn't sleep, for some reason." Paper crackled in his pocket as he sat down. He reached his hand inside and extricated two crumpled envelopes.

"Me too," Hermione said softly. Something in her voice — sadness? despair? resignation? — made Draco tear his eyes away from the envelopes on his lap. Hermione's face was titled upwards to the sky that lay draped in clouds. In the strange, pale light, her dark eyes glittered from moonlit skin.

Draco couldn't take his gaze from her. In his heart of hearts, in the depths of his soul, he knew Hermione was not beautiful. But there was something about her, something that caused his mind's eye to fill in every physical detail she lacked. Hermione was... Hermione was _special_.

"Are you sure that woman was a Death Eater?" he ventured after a period of silence. His voice seemed to break some spell over Hermione; some of the tension left her body, and she sat back into the bench,

"Well, if she isn't, she certainly supports You-Know-Who is some way," she replied. A strand of bushy hair fell in front of her face; Draco resisted a sudden urge to brush it away.

"But couldn't she just have been nosy?" he asked reasonably, forcing his gaze to turn away so she wouldn't think he was staring at her.

Hermione shook her head impatiently. "You didn't see her. She was definitely up to something sinister."

Draco shrugged, unwilling to argue further. "What do the others think?"

"Mrs. Weasley and Ginny think it was definitely suspicious. The _boys_—" she invested the word with such scorn Draco could almost see the letters curling and withering before his eyes "—think I'm over-reacting."

Draco arranged his face into what he hoped was a supportive and outraged expression.

"And we can't ask Fleur about anything because she and Bill have left for London," she continued. "Bill promised me he'd let Lupin and the Order know about what I saw, but 1—"

"Is Lupin the old guy with the weird eye?" he interrupted.

"No, no; that's Moody." Her train of thought derailed, she ceased her flow of talk. Her eyes fell upon the envelopes that lay on Draco's lap.

"What are those?" she enquired. Draco followed her gaze. His heart began to race.

"Hermione—" he coughed, trying to clear his throat "— Hermione, can I ask you a favour?" She looked up at him, brown eyes brimming with curiosity, and nodded.

He fiddled with the envelopes, turning them over and over in nervous hands, before thrusting them suddenly towards her. She looked at him, startled eyebrows almost disappearing into a mane of hair.

"If — if I go... I mean, if he comes... if my memory comes back, can you deliver these?" he stammered, his words tripping and running out of his mouth. Hermione flipped over the envelopes, looking at the name scribbled on each. Her eyes widened, but she nodded.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Hermione sighed, breaking the spell. She turned to Draco.

"Does it worry you?" she asked, in a voice so soft it was almost absorbed in the breeze.

"Does what?"

"The uncertainty."

"Of my memory?" He paused, considering. "Yes, it does. It's like — I sometimes feel as though once my memory returns, I'll go. I don't mean this body, but the person I am now will just — vanish. Like dying, but with no hope of heaven."

"I'm sorry," whispered Hermione. Draco felt soft fingers covering his hand where it lay on the bench, and his heart leapt so high he was sure she could see it in his throat. He swallowed hard.

"One of the things," he began, gripping his courage with all his strength, "one of the things I'm most afraid of is — is losing —" his nerve failed "-people."

Hermione lifted her eyes to meet his. "What people?"

_Now or never_. "People like you."

Afterwards, Draco could never say what gave him the courage to do what happened next. As if in a dream, he heard her gasp, saw her shining eyes, smelt the faint whiff of ink and parchment that followed her everywhere... felt the soft touch of her lips upon his own.

_Dong_

The tolling of the church bell from the nearby village of Ottery St. Catchpoledrifted towards them on the night breeze.

_Dong_

They broke apart. Draco stood, glancing in trepidation at Hermione for her reaction, his body tensed for flight.

_Dong_

Her eyes sparkled, a slightly glazed look upon them, above her parted lips.

_Dong_

A broad grin split his face in two. Bursting with happiness and elation, he ran lightly into the house,

_Dong_

As he leapt up the stairs, he thought with joy that that was the best thing in memory.

* * *

_Dong_

Hermione sat very still, a smile creeping across her features. Her lips still tingled. Her heart raced, pumping so fast she felt dizzy.

_Dong_

She stood up slowly, not noticing the envelopes slide off her lap and fall under the bench, and began walking leisurely towards the house. Her mind was full of Draco,.

_Dong_

A crashing sound, faint but growing louder, startled her out of her thoughts. She whirled around, her eyes searching the darkness as she whipped out her wand.

_Dong_

"_Lumos_," she murmured. The light illuminated a figure staggering up from the bottom of the garden.

_Dong_

Hermione's scream froze in her throat. Fear rooted her to the ground as the dark shape lurched closer and closer.

_Dong_

With a burst of speed, it broke into a shambling run and grabbed her by the collar. With a shock, Hermione realised it was Monsieur Delacour. His bloodshot eyes gazed through her wildly, desperately.

_Dong_

"_Ils viennent! Ils viennent!_" he cried hoarsely, shaking her. "_Allez! Allez! ILS VIENNENT_!"

_Dong_


	11. It Tolls For Thee

Icy tendrils of fear raced along Hermione's spine. Her French might be limited, but she knew enough to grasp the meaning behind M. Delacour's words. _Ils viennent_…they are coming.

"Who? Who are coming?" she cried frantically, struggling to recall her French. "Qui…. qui viennent?"

He froze, his eyes staring through her into hell. "Ils viennent," he whispered once more.

"_Avada Kedavra_," said a voice softly. The spell whispered across the grass. Its green light cast a sickly glow over M. Delacour's face as it hit him in the back. He sighed softly and collapsed onto Hermione, knocking her to the ground. She looked down, frozen in horror, at his blank eyes staring up at her.

She screamed.

* * *

A warm glow filled Draco from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair. He stretched out his hand to the doorknob of the bedroom reluctantly, not wanting the memories -- what wonderful memories! -- to be blurred in sleep. 

Hermione's scream tore through him.

Without conscious direction from his brain, he flung the door open and dashed to the window. Through its dusty panes he saw dark figures approaching the house from all sides. He wanted to cry a warning, but his throat seemed glued together with fear.

"What was that?" Harry asked muzzily, pushing himself up. Ron's tousled head rose from his pillow. Draco's mouth opened and shut, but he couldn't force the words past the lump in his throat.

"Attack," Draco managed hoarsely. Harry stared for a heartbeat in horror, then seized his wand and bolted out the door, Ron close behind him.

"What do I do?" Draco cried, leaping after them.

"Wake everyone up, then hide," Ron called over his shoulder. "You're no good without a wand."

Draco nodded reluctantly and ran out after them, hammering on every door he saw.

"Get up!" he yelled, over and over. "We're being attacked."

In the times they lived in, such words were not taken lightly.

* * *

A hand clamped tightly over Hermione's mouth. Metal cut into the soft skin of her lips  so many rings! She tried to scream again, but the person only tightened their grip. 

"Quiet, girl, or I shall slit your throat," hissed an accented voice. Hermione froze. _Madame Delacour!_

"Did she wake them? This is all your fault! If you hadn't let that fool slip away…" a man shot at Delacour. His narrow eyes flickered over the silent house.

_Please let someone have heard me_, Hermione prayed. _Please let someone come_. A pale flicker in one of the windows -- a face? -- caught her eye. It was enough.

With all her strength, she stamped down on her captor's dainty foot. As Delacour screeched, her grip lessened. Hermione ducked, rolled to avoid a hex, grabbed her wand and leapt to her feet.

"_Stupefy_!" she cried, pointing her wand at the narrow-eyed Death Eater. Miraculously, her spell hit home and he collapsed on the ground.

"Hermione! Look out!" She spun around and fired a hex at Delacour, ducking to avoid the jet of green light that flew over her head. Her hex failed to find its mark, and she was forced to fling herself to the side to avoid another curse.

Ron hauled her to her feet, his eyes sweeping over her in hasty concern. Behind them, the Burrow erupted in shouts and roars. Both rushed to defend the house, hoping against hope that help would arrive.

_Please, Bill, please have told someone_, Hermione wished frantically as she ducked two curses sent after her at once. Delacour pursued her relentlessly, her silvery hair falling in disarray over her face. Hermione was slowly being driven back, away from the main fighting force of her friends.

_Stupefy_, she thought desperately, but Delacour merely smiled and deflected the spell with a careless wave of her wand. Her smile widened showing all her teeth in a predatory grimace. Hermione leaned back in fear, but the incantation for the Shield Charm just would not come to her.

_Not now, not now, not NOW_! Her mind was a terrified blank. She cried out in terror as a Leg-Locker curse thumped into her. She lay, helpless, while Delacour walked slowly towards her, raising her wand with a vicious, gleeful smile as she…

Collapsed. Hermione's breath rushed out of her in an enormous gasp, and to her shame tears pricked her eyes. A pale hand gripped her arm and pulled her gently to her feet. She wobbled, her feet still jammed tightly together. This was forgotten, however, as she realised who had rescued her.

"Draco! But you shouldn't be out  you've got no wand!"

"I saved you, didn't I?" he shrugged. She glanced down at Delacour's prone form, at then at the large stone he still clutched in his hand.

"Could you pass me my wand?" she asked him, trying in vain to get to her feet. He did so, and pulled her up with a half-smile after she had released herself. "Now you'd better get back inside, and stay there." He grimaced but joined her as she sprinted back up to where the main fighting was going on. "And thanks," she threw over her shoulder.

Harry stood with his back to the wall of the house, surrounded by Death Eaters , firing hex after hex with his face contorted in rage and hatred. Ron lay very still on the ground beside him. Hermione's breath caught. _No, he's alive, he's alive!_ she tried to convince herself.

"Watch out!" Draco yelled, and both flung themselves on the ground as a huge Death Eater sent a jet of green light flying towards them. _We're losing. _Hermione could hardly accept it. _We're outnumbered, and we're all going to die._

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Hermione looked up to see Tonks and Lupin leaping into the fray. _Bill! He told them!_ With renewed hope, she stood and joined the rest of the Order as they drove the Death Eaters back. Hermione ended up standing beside Harry as they forced a particularly fat wizard away from the house.

"Is Ron okay?" Hermione cried, dodging a Body-Bind curse.

"Just knocked out!" Harry replied as he sent yet another hex.

"Retreat!" one of the Death Eaters suddenly cried out. "We're outnumbered, just get out!" Relief flooded Hermione as she parried her opponent's parting shot. It was somewhat lessened when she saw Delacour joining the others unsteadily. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Hermione. Amidst the cries of the Order and the bangs and pops of the Death Eaters Disapparating, she raised her wand and screamed an unintelligible curse before disappearing with a screech of triumph.

Hermione dived to the ground and felt her hair ripple as the spell passed over her. She heard a gasp from behind her, and a thud that rang out ominously in the sudden silence. She turned slowly, heart thumping as a dreadful feeling of déjà vu swept over her.

Draco sprawled at the foot of the wall. Blood trickled slowly down the side of his face. His eyes were closed.

Hermione's heart plummeted and shattered. Tight bands circled her chest, constricting her until she couldn't breathe. _No. Nononono. This isn't real. It can't be real_, her heart screamed as Tonks ran to kneel beside him.

"He's breathing, but unconscious," she called out. "His head wound might be serious -- can we get a Healer?"

A tidal wave of relief swept over Hermione. Suddenly weak-kneed, she gratefully accepted Harry's steadying arm

Moody stumped up to stand beside her. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye and he wiped it away irritably. "Not a chance. He's wanted by the Ministry; there would be too many awkward questions.

"We can't just let him die!" Hermione burst out angrily.

"What about Madam Pomfrey?" asked a voice from behind her. She turned to see Ron swaying unsteadily, clutching Kingsley Shacklebolt's shoulder for balance.

"Oh! You're okay!" she cried out, flinging her arms around his neck. He staggered and almost fell. She pulled back immediately, looking apologetic.

More of the Order had gathered by now. "Poppy can be trusted, I'm sure," Professor McGonagall asserted.

"I'll fetch her," Tonks volunteered and she vanished with a bang. McGonagall turned to Mrs. Weasley.

"Molly, I'm afraid the Burrow won't be safe any longer," she said gently. "Luckily, we've prepared for something like this." She turned to Harry. "Potter -- and Weasley and Granger too, I suppos -- you'll be living at my house." The slight tightening of her lips indicated this was not exactly a welcome event.

Harry stared. "_Your_ house, Professor? But why? What's wrong with Grimmauld Place?"

"It's not safe now that its Secret Keeper is dead," Hermione told him distractedly, craning her neck to watch Kingsley check Draco for broken bones. "Everyone who knew is a Secret Keeper now, so Snape could lead a horde of Death Eaters in on top of us."

"Precisely, Miss Granger," McGonagall nodded. She turned back to Mrs. Weasley. "Molly, while you're welcome at my home, of course, I don't think it's big enough in the long run. Is there any relative's house you could stay in?"

"Oh…well, of course, yes… I suppose there's Aunt Muriel," Mrs. Weasley stammered, looking around her in bewilderment. Smoke rose from the blackened skeleton of what had once been a tree, and glass littered the ground from several smashed windows. "But what about food? And clothes? And"

McGonagall rested a hand on her arm. "Come now, Molly, we'll get everyone safely there and then worry about things like that." She steered her gently to the roadside. "Has someone managed to find some Muggle taxis?" she called back over her shoulder.

"I have, Minerva," replied a black-haired witch whom Hermione vaguely remembered seeing at the Order's headquarters a few times. "They weren't too happy, I can tell you  I shouldn't think many people should need them at one o'clock in the morning in this sleepy village!"

Hermione glanced back at Draco again. "He looks dreadfully pale." A thought struck her suddenly. "Professor! Professor McGonagall!"

McGonagall looked up from a conversation with the black-haired witch. "What is it, Miss Granger?" she asked testily.

"What about Draco -- I mean Malfoy? Where will he go?"

McGonagall paused for a split second before replying, "With you three, of course. I understand you've taken responsibility for him while he's recovering."

Harry scowled, but Hermione continued, "Where's Madam Pomfrey? He looks really awful  what if she's too late?"

"He'll be fine, Hermione," Ron reassured her. She looked up at him, wishing she could believe him. "Malfoy isn't going to die just by cracking his head off a wall! Catch him giving up the opportunity to torment us for the rest of his miserable life," he joked. Hermione smiled reluctantly and buried her face in his shoulder. It was times like these that she missed those few weeks she'd been with Ron the most.

_Ron! Oh my God, he'll kill me!_ The thought jolted through her like an electric shock. She pulled away suddenly.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Ron asked her in concern.

"Fine  fine!" she managed. If Ron found out about Draco… but she'd have to tell him, wouldn't she? At least…

It was then that Hermione saw the awful choice that lay before her. Ron or Draco? Draco or Ron?

_Ron will never speak to me again if I go with Draco. That will be it ____ no going back. But if I choose Ron… _Hermione felt an awful sense of loss knife through her. The way she had felt when Draco had kissed her, she had never felt with anyone before. Her stomach still tightened in giddy pleasure when she thought of it. It hadn't been that way with Victor, with Cormac, nor even, she thought guiltily, with Ron.

Hermione's thoughts kept running in circles  vicious circles, with pitfalls and jagged-toothed traps lurking everywhere. The journey passed in a blur of fear and indecision . Each agonising second, she debated with herself what was the best thing, the right thing, to do, and each second she reached a new decision.

"Here we are, then," McGonagall said briskly. Hermione started; she hadn't even noticed the taxi stopping. She looked out at the terrace of houses before her, each one tall and narrow, and to her tired mind, infinitely foreboding.

The Weasley family soon appeared from nearby taxis, with Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt levitating Draco on a stretcher. As they shivered (the night had grown breezy, and a thin drizzle drifted down) Hermione noticed Kingsley passing from one person to the next, whispering something in their ears. He bent his head to Mrs. Weasley's; an expression of mild surprise spread over her face, and she stepped forward impatiently.

"What is Kingsley doing?" Ron muttered in her here.

"I'm not…" Realisation dawned. Feeling like an idiot for not understanding sooner, she hissed back, "He must be Secret Keeper for McGonagall's house! He's telling us so we can go in."

He reached the three of them moments later. His deep, rich voice whispered I 'Belvedere' /I softly into her ear. She blinked, and suddenly another house began to appear, starting out as only a tiny sliver but growing until its soaring roof finally levelled with the rest of the terrace. Tall, tightly-shuttered windows let out no chink of light from its imposing bulk.

"Better get in before any Muggles start asking questions," Moody growled, and with a flick of his wand he started forward, Draco floating beside him. Hermione followed everyone up the damp steps, through the porch and into an anteroom. They stood and shivered in the cool tiled room.

"In here," McGonagall said, pushing open a door to her right. Stepping through, Hermione found herself in a large, rectangular room. A table stood in the corner with a sheet draped over it, only the ornately decorated legs showing, with several matching chairs stacked beside it. With a wave of her wand McGonagall lit a small fire in the fireplace looming at the other end of the room, surrounded by several armchairs and a small couch. It was onto this that Moody lowered Draco. Hermione's breath caught as she saw him for the first time in good light. His face was deathly pale, throwing the blood that still trickled down his face into sharp, evil relief.

A ring at the doorbell sent McGonagall hurrying out. She reappeared moments later with Madam Pomfrey at her side.

"Good heavens," she exclaimed at the sight of them all clustered around the fire. "Let the boy breathe!"

"Molly, perhaps it would be a good idea to take the children down for some tea," McGonagall said. "Just down the hallway, through the door at the end." Mrs. Weasley blinked and nodded rather absently before leaving the room as if in a dream.

Hermione followed Ron and Harry down to the kitchen, another long, high-ceilinged room, but this one at least looked as though it was used once in a while. She helped Mrs. Weasley with the tea mechanically, her mind still fretting about whether Draco would recover and (worse still) what would she do then?

The wait seemed to drag on for weeks, though it couldn't have been more than half an hour. Mrs. Weasley pressed them all with so much tea Hermione was sure she would scream if she ever tasted the stuff again.

At long last, McGonagall came down to tell them that Madam Pomfrey had finished. Hermione spilt her tea over Ron as she leapt up and rushed out. Luckily for him, his mother was too distracted to hear his curses as he hurriedly mopped up and ran.

Moody and Kingsley were talking quietly by the fireplace as Hermione entered. Her heart plummeted as her eyes fell on the prone form on the couch. Moody looked up and saw her expression.

"No, Granger, he's not dead, just sleeping. He'll wake up when he's ready."

Hermione's spirits, after leaping in joy at news of Draco's wellbeing, sank at the thought of yet more torturous hours of waiting. She glanced at Draco's still face, willing him to show some sign of life.

A flicker.

Hermione fell to her knees by his side, barely daring to breathe. Had it been her imagination  no, there again! His eyelids fluttered weakly. Her breath caught as he slowly raised his lids and turned his grey eyes towards her.

"Draco -- you're awake! You're okay!" Her heart danced in her chest, and she felt light-headed from relief and delight.

His eyes narrowed. "What's it to you, Mudblood?"

****

A/N: Although I generally prefer to update at Mugglenet before here, this time I'll submit both at once since I'm shockingly late updating. In begging for your forgiveness, I can only say I have been away a lot, and the release of Deathly Hallows meant I had to fix some things. Plus, I am very lazy. Hope you liked this chapter, and I will try to update faster in future. And I promise there will be less cliffies!


	12. Spiderweb

**Author's Notes:  
This chapter is dedicated to Jairah, who managed to predict the story to this point way back at around chapter four.  
**

It was later. Uproar had happened.

Hermione, Ron and Harry sat silently at the kitchen table, listening to the rain rattling the windowpanes. A clock ticked loudly from above the back door. Each second felt like eternity.

Hermione stared at her hands, clasped so tightly in front of her. She concentrated on breathing in and out, in and out, trying to ignore the lump in her throat and the sick feeling in her stomach. She couldn't think about it. If she did, she knew those tears that hovered in her eyes would spill out and nothing would stop her from degenerating into a sobbing, tear-soaked mess.

_He called me a Mudblood_. Each time she remembered, it felt like a blow to her stomach. She bit her lip to stop it trembling. Stupid. Stupid. To think someone could change so much, to delude herself into believing it could last. Well, now she was paying for her folly.

She jumped as a chair scraped across the tiles. Harry had stood up.

"I've had enough of this," he muttered. " I'm going to see what's going on."

"Harry…" Hermione began weakly, but he ignored her and strode towards the kitchen door.

It swung open suddenly and Lupin entered the room, looking even more exhausted than usual.

"What's happening? Is his memory back? What's he said?" Harry said at once. Lupin held his hands up in front of him, warding off all their questions until he had collapsed gratefully into a chair.

"Well?" Harry demanded.

"He's back," Lupin said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "He's hurt, he's tired, he's frightened out of his wits and he won't tell us anything."

"Where is he?" asked Hermione, finding her voice at last.

"In a little room on the top floor — safely locked," he added, seeing Harry and Ron's expressions. "He's going to have to stay here until we figure out what to do with him."

"So we're back on babysitting duty," Ron said flatly. Lupin nodded. "Great. Just how I wanted to spend the rest of my summer."

"Why can't he just go to Azkaban or something?" Harry shot at Lupin, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the back of his chair.

Lupin shook his head sadly. "With the Ministry the way it is now, they'd probably announce they had a vicious, murdering Death Eater and execute him at once."

"Isn't that what he is?"

"Not yet. Remember, he couldn't kill Dumbledore. And besides," Lupin smiled humourlessly, "Dumbledore promised him he'd be safe if he came to us."

"He's only here because he tried to attack Hermione!" Ron cried incredulously.

"But he did come willingly afterwards—"

"Only because the prat had wiped his own memory!"

"What did he say?" Hermione said quietly.

"Not much. We just established he was back and left him — there was no point in talking to him when he was in such a state. We've spent the last few hours arguing over what to do with him. Some people, I must say, were in favour of Harry's suggestion, but eventually we decided it's best to keep him here for the moment. Actually —" Lupin glanced at his watch "— someone should probably check on him, he's been in there around five hours and he's probably starving…" He glanced at Hermione, who nodded.

"But what about the Horcruxes!" Harry burst out angrily. "How am I supposed to do anything when I'm stuck here guarding Malfoy?"

Hermione slipped out of her chair and began preparing toast and tea. Her hands trembled as she set the pot to boil, and she willed herself to calm down. The sick feeling in her stomach had tightened into a tight, nauseous knot. _I have to forget him,_ she told herself. _I have to forget he was ever nice to me, ever cared for me , ever kissed me—_ her resolution faltered a little at this, but she continued—I have to realise he's gone, and left this horrible, sneering, smirking creature in his place. A tear dripped off her nose and into the tea. She wiped her eyes hastily; the last thing she wanted to show Malfoy was weakness. She left the room as steadily as she could, leaving Harry's angry shouts and Lupin's weary replies behind her.

The house seemed to have nothing but stairs. She climbed the first flight slowly, peering down the dark corridor that branched off it. Nothing stirred, and so she continued up the next (thankfully smaller) flight. She almost dropped the tray as she peered through the gloom to see a dark figure facing her, until she realised she was looking into a large, cracked mirror. Trying to keep control of her nerves, she faced the last small set of stairs and climbed them slowly.

A closed door faced her at the top, paint cracking off the panels. She set the tray down carefully and tried to turn the handle. It wouldn't budge, and a faint tingling in her palm told her it was enchanted. Satisfied this was the right room, she took out her wand and whispered "_Alohomora_". Gripping her wand tightly in suddenly sweaty fingers, she twisted the doorknob.

The door creaked open slowly to reveal a tiny room. Grey light spilled in from a small window set in one wall, illuminating the figure that sprawled on the narrow bed. A rickety table stood somewhat unsteadily beneath the window. The room was otherwise empty. It smelled of damp and disuse.

"Hello, Malfoy," Hermione quavered.

Draco lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. A spider scuttled across, hurrying to its enormous web in the corner. He watched it as it descended upon a fly that struggled in the sticky threads of its trap, encasing it to await the spider's hunger.

_I'm a fly. The only question left is how soon I'll be eaten. _A giggle rose in his throat. He forced it back down; no need for hysteria.

Merlin, his head hurt. It throbbed with steady agony, as though an elephant had been tap-dancing on his brain.

He raised a hand to his forehead and let it sweep through his hair. He needed sleep. He didn't feel like himself at all. Strange thoughts flittered around the inside of his head, images flickering tantalisingly before vanishing without a trace. He needed it to stop. Malfoys were _not_ flies.

He strained his aching brain, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing he could remember before waking up to Granger's ugly face (that thought sent a strange feeling through him, one he couldn't identify) was being somewhere wet and dark. He could remember hiding under the trees, cradling his mutilated hand and wishing he was dead. And then Granger had come and he'd duelled her — but what spell had he used? _Avada Kedavra?_ He wished. _Impedimenta_, then? No; he could remember, it was coming to him…

_Obliviate._

_I'm an idiot._

_What_ had possessed him to use that spell? Aunt Bellatrix had barely begun teaching him it! He was lucky it hadn't worked properly — he shuddered to think of what could have happened if Granger had gotten her Mudblood paws (again that twinge — what was wrong with him?) on his Obliviated self. No, it was something to be thankful for that he'd just knocked himself out.

Not that he was in the best of situations as it was. When he had woken up everyone had looked as if he'd grown an extra head. _It couldn't have been what I said to Granger, could it?_ he wondered, _Did they expect me to be _nice_ to her?_ He scoffed at the thought.

He couldn't deny the fear that had gripped him when all those wizards converged on him and started firing questions at him. He'd kept his mouth shut and prayed they wouldn't kill him. They'd left him alone at last, defeated by his silence, and had bundled him into this box of a room.

He couldn't help wondering why they didn't just kill him, or lock him away in a dungeon somewhere, or (he shivered at the thought) hand him over to the Ministry? And these clothes! He looked down at them with revulsion. A grubby Muggle t-shirt and torn jeans. His skin itched at the thought of all the filthy Muggle hands that must have touched them, _worn_ them even. He would have ripped them off were it not for the fact that his robes were nowhere to be seen, and he didn't quite feel like confronting Potter in only his underwear — if _that_ was still his own. If it wasn't, he shuddered to think who had changed his clothes. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn't remember.

His stomach growled noisily. He wondered if they'd bother to feed him.

He tensed as the door creaked open, his hand groping automatically for the wand that wasn't there. Granger's bushy head appeared tentatively around the door.

"Hello, Malfoy."

Draco didn't reply. He was too shocked at the emotion that had flooded through him at the sight of her. Relief. Pure, unmistakable relief. Almost as if … he was _glad_ to see her.

_No way!_ he thought with revulsion. She just wasn't as big a threat as Potter or Weasley. So long as she didn't slap him, he amended. Best stay away, in any case.

He pulled himself upright as she entered with a tray. His head swam sickeningly and he refrained with difficulty from clutching it and sinking back down.

Granger set the tray down the dusty table. She held her wand tightly in one hand. He eyed the food longingly, but didn't want to move to it in case he fell over.

"How's your head?" Granger asked cautiously. Reluctantly, he turned his head to look at her. Even in his tired, muddled state, he was surprised at how nervous she seemed. She was clutching her wand so tightly he was sure it would snap soon, and her eyes kept flickering from him, to the window, to the door, back to him again…

He didn't reply. Silence had served him well so far. He settled instead for a disdainful look, hoping she wouldn't catch the fear that still lurked in the pit of his stomach.

She took a deep breath. "Listen, Malfoy, I know we never… got along before this, so I think it would be for the best if we both… forgot about what happened last night. It — it can't mean anything now." She tossed her hair back and fixed him with a defiant look. She had the look of someone who had had something difficult to say and had at last spat it out.

_What in Merlin's name is she talking about?_ He couldn't keep silent any longer. "Are you talking about when I missed hexing you? Because I don't know about you, Granger, but it wasn't much of a deep and meaningful experience for me." His voice grew stronger as he finished. He might be dizzy and have a splitting headache, but he could still try to make people feel as small as possible.

"Not then, I mean--" She stopped suddenly, realisation dawning on her ugly Mudblood face. Draco ruthlessly quashed any thoughts to the contrary. _She IS a Mudblood, and she IS ugly. At least fairly ugly. Or at least plain. Certainly not conventionally beautiful , but -- Enough! I'm ill_, he told himself. _Very very ill. It will all be over tomorrow._

He couldn't understand the horror with which she was regarding him now. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, licking her lips nervously before saying, "You mean you don't remember?"

_Smartest witch in the school, my Slytherin a--_

"Are you messing with me, Malfoy?" Granger's sharp tone cut across his thoughts. "Because if you are, I warn you—"

"Granger, I was hit by what we _wizards_ call a Mem-o-ry Charm," he drawled. "That means—"

"You — you don't remember anything of the last few weeks?" Granger interrupted him breathlessly.

He sighed, rolling his eyes despite the pain. It was like talking to Goyle. "No, Granger, my memory of the last few weeks is _fine_, I'm sure you're thrilled to know. It's just last night, since the hex, that I have problems with."

Her face fell. "Oh… then it must have been that Delacour woman," she said quietly, almost to herself.

"Merlin's beard, Granger, I thought you were supposed to be _intelligent_! Since the Memory Charm I hit myself with, _last night_, I don't remember anything until waking up in this dump of a house with you hovering over me — which is _not_ a good sight to wake up to, by the way. I'll have nightmares for weeks." He smirked as he finished, sitting back against the wall. He sat up again hurriedly as he felt something climb down his collar.

To his disappointment, Granger brushed off all his insults. She stepped forward to the end of his bed and placed her hands on the bedstead. She leaned forward. He leaned back.

"Dr—Malfoy," she began (causing Draco to stare at her in shock — since when had Granger, of all people, even started to call him by his first name?), "Today is the twenty-first of July. You tried to hex me about a month ago. Your spell backfired and hit you. You had no memory of your entire life. You asked me for help, so I brought you to the Order. We weren't sure if you'd ever recover…"

Draco sat perfectly still, allowing Granger's careful, steady words wash over him. Part of him was convinced that this was all a dream, and he would soon wake up in his four-poster bed with its silken sheets and a house-elf serving him breakfast in bed. The rest of him, unfortunately, conceded that this was probably true. For one thing, he had no after-pains from the Cruciatus curse, and if this was only a few hours later he'd still be feeling them. But a _month_? With no idea who he was? Impossible… wasn't it?

"… and she hit you with a curse. You banged your head and when you came around…" Granger trailed off. She glanced at Draco who was staring into space, lost in thought. "Malfoy! Did you hear a word I said?"

Draco blinked, racking his brain to remember the rest of what she'd said. Unsuccessful, he opted for nastiness. "Why would I bother listening to anything _you_ have to say, Granger?" he sneered.

"Oh!" Granger flounced to the window, tossing her hair behind her head petulantly.

A bluebottle dashed itself relentlessly against the window. The loud buzzing became unbearably irritating in the silence.

Draco wrestled with his curiosity. He desperately wanted to find out what had happened — but not from Granger. How did he know she wasn't just playing some big joke on him? Granted, it might be considered a little strange to plan huge practical jokes on schoolmates during the middle of a war, but it was possible. Just about.

The bluebottle gave up on its quest for freedom, and began to orbit Draco's head instead. He swatted at it with unnecessary violence.

He was forced to admit the improbability of his theory after a few moments, but that still didn't mean he was going to give in to Granger. No way. She could stand there huffing and puffing till she died, for all he cared.

His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that if one of them were going to die, chances were it would be him. To his further mortification, he was sure he saw Granger's lips curl upwards slightly in a fleeting smile.

He suddenly realised that the bluebottle's irritating buzz was gone. He glanced up and saw, with a feeling of inevitability, the insect struggling desperately in the intricate threads of the spider's web. The spider sat patiently, waiting for its large prey's struggles to die down.

It was a sign. He gave up. "Did you say I was out of it for a _month_, Granger?" His lips tightened as she turned with a look of triumph on her face.

"A month, yes, but you weren't 'out of it'," Granger said in her most annoying know-it-all tone, the inverted commas clanging into place. "You just couldn't remember who you were. You thought Harry and Ron and I were your friends." Her lips twitched at his look of utter revulsion and disbelief. Draco was sure she was enjoying this.

"You're lying," he spat.

"Why would I lie?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. She seemed to have all her confidence back, unlike him, Draco noted bitterly. His insecurity was scaling new heights by the second.

"Don't ask me to try to fathom the way a Mudblood's mind works." He smirked as her eyes opened wide. _And is that tears I see brimming?_ He frowned as he felt a disquieting tremor of — of _guilt_? Surely not! _Just hunger_, he assured himself.

He suddenly realised that Granger had her hand on the doorknob.

"Don't go!" he burst out without thinking. She turned in surprise. He felt the heat climb in his cheeks as he wondered why the hell he'd just said that.

"What is it with you, Malfoy?" she said softly. "One minute you're screaming insults, the next begging me to stay."

He opened his mouth for a smart retort, but none came. He watched in silence as she shook her head and walked out the door. It creaked closed and he heard her whisper to lock it once more. Her footsteps echoed as she walked down the stairs.

Only when the last faint sounds of her had faded away did he lean his head back against the wall and let the tears fall.


	13. Nightmare

**Author's Notes:**

_Apologies yet again for the long delay, I was struck down by a most dreadful bout of writer's block, something I'm very prone to. Thanks as usual to my wonderful beta, Hatusu. _

Hermione sighed in exhaustion as she tucked her hair behind her ears. A steady ache was building in her temples, reminding her that out of the last thirty-six hours, she had only slept for two. She felt as though lead had replaced all the blood in her body. Countless defensive charms and jinxes swirled in her overtired mind, blending into long, unending streams of gibberish.

"That's the last of them. A mouse couldn't get out of this house without us knowing about it," another voice said. Reluctantly, she prised her eyes open and squinted at the person collapsed in the chair beside her. Ron looked even more tired than she felt, if such a thing was possible. Dark circles lined his eyes, and he yawned so hugely his jaw cracked.

"Don't," she murmured, resting her head on her arms. Her jaw itched in empathy.

"Don't what?" he replied as he finished.

"Yaw­--" she began, only to be cut off by a yawn even bigger and longer than his. "'S contagious," she muttered sleepily as her yawn concluded. His lips quirked up in a quick smile, and he too folded his arms and dropped his head onto them.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi to you too," she mumbled back.

"You okay?"

"Mmm."

"It's just I noticed you weren't yourself this morning… is it Malfoy?"

Through the fog of tiredness, various parts of her brain began broadcasting warning signals. "What about Malfoy?"

"Well…it's a bit weird, having the real one back. I know you got kind of close to the other one… do you miss him?"

"A little. But he wasn't really real," she replied carefully.

"I just want you to know…_I'm_ real, Hermione. Okay? So if you ever want anything, or need anything, I'm there." He slid his hand over hers where it lay right next to his face. She noticed sleepily that he still bit his nails.

"I know, Ron."

"I love you, Hermione," he said softly.

That kicked her back into wakefulness. "Ron…"

He raised his head and sat up a little. "You said we should wait. I know why you said it — you were right about the dangers, as usual. But… but aren't some things worth a little danger? Wouldn't it be worth the risk just to be together?"

"Ron," Hermione protested, propping herself up on her elbow, "it's too late for this. We can talk about it later, when we've had some sleep."

"It's only nine o'clock," he pointed out stubbornly.

She pulled herself to her feet, irritation lancing though her weariness. "I'm going to bed."

He caught her arm. "If you won't consider it, then at least tell me again that you love me," he demanded.

She shook herself free. "I already told you, I'm too tired to talk about this."

His blue eyes bored into hers. "Three words won't take that much out of you."

"Oh, Ron!" she cried irritably. She stalked out of the room, uncomfortably aware of his hurt face as the door swung shut behind her.

_Arrogant, chauvinistic idiot,_ she fumed. _Does he think I have nothing better to do than pamper his ego? Anyway, I never said I loved him. I may — I do have strong feelings for him, but I've told him about what I think about people randomly declaring themselves in love. It's ridiculous._

Coherent thought became increasingly difficult as she staggered up to the top floor where her room was, down a little corridor from Malfoy's. It was like trying to wade through waist-thick soup. She paused for a moment outside Malfoy's door, rubbing at her eyes in the vain hope it would keep her awake a little longer.

Strangely, now that she was so close to her room she was feeling a perverse inclination against going to bed. A reckless desire awoke in her to check on Malfoy, see him one last time before she went to sleep. Common sense screamed that she was too tired, he could overpower her and take her wand, but she ignored it, unlocked the door and gave it a gentle push.

The fading daylight cast faint shadows over the figure sprawled across the bed. His chest, wrapped in blankets, rose and fell softly as he breathed the deep breaths of sleep. One bare leg dangled off the bed from the knee, while his head rested on one of his slender hands. His dark hair hung down over his face, half-covering the ugly bruise on his forehead. The eyes that she had found so hard to meet earlier were closed, dark lashes brushing his cheek. Hermione felt his heart clench at seeing his face so peaceful, so relaxed.

He frowned suddenly in his sleep, his hand clenching the pillow tightly. A sound she would have thought a whimper had she heard it anywhere else escaped his lips and his body twisted, arching into the air as he cried out in obvious distress before collapsing to the bed again.

"No…" he moaned, his voice rising in a crescendo as his face contorted with pain.

Hermione froze for a moment in shock. Harry and Ron had said he had nightmares, but this bad? This was far worse than she had ever imagined. In a few steps she was beside his bed.

"Malfoy!" she hissed. The lines on his forehead intensified, and he began muttering feverishly.

Hermione glanced helplessly around, unsure of what to do. She dithered for a moment, then seized his bare shoulder and shook him.

"Malfoy, wake _up_!"

* * *

_Shadows flickered in the lamp-lit corridors of Hogwarts. For a moment, Draco wondered why he was there. Shouldn't he be… but the thought faded away quickly, leaving him oddly certain. Of course he should be here; he was a Prefect, wasn't he, and needed to patrol -- though he didn't know why he was standing around in what was a strangely unfamiliar part of Hogwarts. He glanced down a corridor to his left. He should be heading towards the Entrance Hall, but something enticed him down this corridor. He felt a growing curiosity as he stared down its unlit length, sure he could see something moving in the shadows. He began walking, then running, trying to appease the gnawing longing. He thought he saw the end of a black cloak disappear around the next corner. He ran and ran, footsteps echoing in the strangely empty castle. Yet try as he might, he could never catch more than a glimpse of his quarry._

_He rounded yet another corner, and spotted a flash of brown hair disappearing through a little door. For a second he was confused — surely that door hadn't been there before? — but his relentless longing to catch this fleeing shadow drove him on. He strode to the door and reached out his hand to push the grainy wood. Yet the moment his fingers touched it, the door changed. What had been solid oak became planks of crumbling, rotten wood in a door that looked as though a breath would knock it off its hinges. He hesitated and pulled back his hand, unwilling to enter such a foreboding portal, but the memory of the enticing figure was too alluring. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside._

_A small moonlit room met his eyes. Rickety furniture lay scattered on the wooden floor, most broken, all old. Dust lay in a thick blanket across the entire room, undisturbed by anything except the tiny paw-prints of rats. There was no sign of the mysterious person he was pursuing. Draco took a few steps forward, trying to see if there was another way out that they could have taken. He jumped as the door creaked shut behind him._

_The full moon shone in the broken window, its light glinting off the eyes of a rat that scuttled under a dilapidated chair. Draco turned slowly on the spot, the consuming longing in his stomach begging him to keep looking, no matter what —_

_Suddenly the door behind him slammed open so hard its rotten hinges gave way, sending it splintering to the floor. A tall figure stood in the doorway, pale skin glinting in the moonlight, red-tinted eyes alight with triumph._

_"So this is where you've been hiding from me, Draco," he hissed, his voice silky smooth._

_Draco fell to his knees as the Dark Lord's slow footsteps sent clouds of dust into the air. Terror tugged at his vocal chords, tangling them in knots. "My lord… I'm sorry…" he choked out. A wand poked the soft skin of his neck and he flinched, awaiting the deadly words that would send him to oblivion. The smooth wood caught his chin and forced it upwards. Reluctantly, he looked into the insane eyes of his master._

_"You have disappointed me, Draco," the Dark Lord said softly. "Bad enough that you did not carry out my orders, that you did not kill the old fool even when he was at your mercy, but then to run away? That was foolish, Draco, very foolish."_

_Draco let out a strangled sound as the wand pressed harder against his throat.. "My lord, please don't… I didn't mean…." His voice shook so hard he couldn't even finish the sentence. The Dark Lord looked at him with contempt._

_"Where is Severus Snape?" His high voice and sharp and icy cold. Draco looked at him in panic. "I know he brought you here. Tell me!" Draco tried to remember, but everything was such a blur. Terror fogged his thoughts; he knew that Snape had brought him here and told him not to leave before he came back, but what had he said then? Something about a place, Grimmauld Place! He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. Frantically he tried again but the words caught in his throat._

_The Dark Lord's eyes flashed in irritation. "_Crucio!_" he snarled._

_Draco fell backwards, his eyes rolling in his head, hands curled into claws as unbelievably intense agony surged through his body. Scream after scream ripped through his throat until he was sure he was torn in two, it wouldn't stop, it would never stop, he would just scream and scream until he died…_

_After an eternity, the pain began to ebb away. Draco lay on the floor, gasping and sobbing as tremors of pain, the aftermath of the curse, shook his body._

_"I will not ask you again, Draco. Where is Severus Snape?" the dreaded voice said. Draco gulped, trying to strangle the sobs that still rose in his throat._

_"My lord," he croaked, "I don't know where he is." The Dark Lord's eyebrows rose and he lifted his wand. Draco began gabbling, his voice rising hysterically as he tried to forestall the pain. "Really! He never told me! All he said was to stay here, I swear. I swear! PLEASE!"_

_The wand twitched and Draco collapsed once more, writhing in excruciating agony. _Oh please oh please oh please STOP!_ he screamed, though whether in his mind or out loud he could not tell. _Take me away from here, anyway, just not here, away away away…_ The pain intensified and he howled. _I want to go home, go home now, be safe_. A vision of Malfoy Manor rose in his mind, in his large airy room with its silk sheets and thickly carpeted floors. With all his heart he wished he was there._

_A sudden feeling of compression surpassed even the pain, as though there were steel bands wrapped around his torso that tightened more and more…_

"Draco!"

He shot upwards in the bed, chest heaving, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst free of his chest. He clenched his fists and breathed deeply, willing away the awful afterimages. _It was just a dream_, he told himself. _Just a nightmare._ Yet it had been just as clear as the night that—

"Are you all right?"

He jumped and realised with a sinking heart that Granger was right beside him. Had he been talking in his sleep? His cheeks burned at the thought that she might have heard him.

"Fine," he muttered.

"Only… could you let go of my hand, please?"

"I'm not—" He glanced down and realised that he had her wrist tightly in his grasp. He snatched his hand away as though it had been burned.

Granger rubbed her wrist, still looking at him in curiosity and . . . was that pity he saw?

"Malfoy, are you sure you're all right?" she asked him hesitantly. "I — I heard you screaming." Draco bit back a groan. _Perfect, Malfoy, just perfect,_ he fumed.

"None of your business," he growled. His heart was gradually settling down by now, no longer trying to break out through his ears.

Her eyes narrowed. "Fine," she said coldly, and left.

Draco lay back down and ran his trembling hands through his hair. Images of that crazed face leaped at him whenever he closed his eyes. He shivered.

_If I go back, the Dark Lord will kill me. I have nowhere to go_. The icy realisation slid into his stomach. He couldn't stay here with Potter — there was no telling what they might do to him! — but if he escaped, where could he go?

His heavy eyelids began to sink, but he forced them open again. _I can't sleep. Must stay awake. Bad dreams. Must not…._

_Sleep._

* * *

The sun peeked in through a crack in the heavy shutters. Hermione watched lazily as motes of dust swirled in the golden air. Sometimes she wished she could stay forever in that dreamy state between sleeping and waking, enjoying her snug bed and the soft light without the worries and cares of life heaped upon her. 

She particularly didn't want to get up today after that little talk with Ron last night. The flush of irritation that accompanied that memory swept the last cobwebs of sleep from her mind. Reluctantly she drew her bare feet into the open air and onto the threadbare carpet. As she made the bed, she couldn't help wondering why Professor McGonagall lived in a house that was, not to put too fine a point on it, uncared for.

The kitchen was empty when she finally got downstairs, dragging a brush through her unruly hair. The silence and peace after the last day of chaos was restful. Hermione set about making herself some toast and was just spreading butter onto it when Harry walked in the door, yawning hugely.

"Morning," she said casually, taking a bite of toast.

"Morning." He sat down in the chair opposite her and ran his hands through his hair, making it even messier than usual.

"So," she began, "what's next?"

Harry shrugged. "Wish I knew. Lupin and the rest of the Order want us to baby-sit Malfoy."

"Have you told them where you think the next Horcrux is — Ravenclaw's tiara, I mean ?" she asked, lowering her voice. Harry had written to her in a state of great excitement earlier that year as he told her about the mysterious diadem he had seen in the Room of Requirement earlier that year. Harry shook his head. "Harry, I really think you should. It can't do any harm, can it?"

"You mean, they can't decide to lock us up forever?" Harry snorted.

"They kind of already have," she pointed out. "If you explain, maybe they can help! After all, that's what the Order is there for — to get rid of Voldemort. How can they help if you won't let them know what's going on?"

"Stop it," Harry muttered. She blinked, surprised.

"Stop what?"

"Being practical and sensible." He gave her a half-grin to let her know he was joking. "You're right… it's just I'm afraid they won't let me go if they think I'm going to be hunting Voldemort down."

"It's only because they love you, Harry," Hermione said softly.

"I know. That's what makes it so hard."

Hermione opened her mouth to comfort him, but just at that moment Ron walked in. Pointedly ignoring Hermione, he said "Alright, mate?" to Harry, grabbed and apple and slouched out of the room. Hermione bit her lip in irritation.

"What?" she snapped, seeing Harry looking at her with his eyebrows raised. He rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"Ron is being such a prat, I can't believe it!" Hermione fumed. Harry gave his breakfast far more attention than burnt porridge ever deserves.

"How dare he ignore me like that!" Hermione snatched up her toast and took a violent bite out of it. "He needs to grow up. We're not twelve any more, he can't just ignore me and sulk every time we have a disagreement." She shot Harry an angry look. "Don't tell me you're on his side!"

"Mpf!" Harry almost choked on a mouthful of porridge as he hastened to re-assure her. "I'm on no-one's side , since I have no idea what you're fighting about — and I don't want to know!" he added as she began her indignant explanation.

Hermione huffed and began buttering toast with such vigour that the knife sliced right through the bread.

"Er… didn't you eat already, Hermione?" Harry asked cautiously.

"This is for Malfoy," Hermione informed him coldly. As she poured tea into a chipped mug, Lupin walked in the door.

Water dripped off his nose, and as he swept his hands through his hair a sheet of water fell to the floor. He left a trail of puddles behind him and his robes hung in sodden folds from his haggard frame.

"Lupin!" Hermione gasped. "What happened?"

He smiled ruefully. "I was just about to Apparate to the woods behind the house when I was… distracted… by some Death Eaters appearing. I missed my destination and ended up in the sea. I had to swim in — not much fun when the water is this cold, I can tell you!"

"We're by the sea?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Yeah, of course! Didn't you notice, Hermione?" Harry asked. "It's all you can see from the front windows."

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling rather foolish. "I was mostly working on the back of the house… and I wasn't really looking at the view."

"Who does, these days?" Lupin pulled out a chair for himself and sat down. "Is that tea you have there, Hermione?" She poured him a cup, and he drank the steaming liquid with his eyes closed as though it was the elixir of life.

"So what's going to happen with Malfoy?" Harry prompted after a few moments of silence. Lupin grimaced.

"I wish I knew," he said wearily, setting his cup down on the table. "We need to find out where he's been, and how he ended up near Hermione's house. But he won't talk. Or at least he wouldn't yesterday. " He sighed and stood up. "I suppose I'd better give it another try." He began walking towards the door, but Harry stopped him.

"Hermione can get him — can't you?" he asked, nodding almost imperceptibly towards Lupin. _Thank God, he's finally seen sense!_ Hermione rejoiced as she nodded and left. She had begun to worry that Harry would never let anyone else in on his plans for the Horcruxes. Snape's betrayal had shocked them all last year, and Hermione was sure she had seen a few signs of mistrust creeping into the Order.

She took a firm grip on her wand as she unlocked the door and pushed it open. Malfoy sat at the end of his bed, staring blankly out the window. His head whipped around the door creaked open and he stood, quickly assuming the same arrogant pose she had almost forgotten in the last few weeks.

"Planning to starve me to death, were you?" His eyes flicked her up and down, and Hermione suddenly became aware of how faded her jeans were, how plain her t-shirt was.

_Get a grip_, she told herself sternly. _You're just not used to this. Toughen up!_

"This way, Malfoy," she said coldly, taking a half-step out of the door.

"Why should I come with _you_, Granger?" he asked, lip curling. The familiar expression sent an unexpected stab through her as she remembered the easy smile he had turned on her only a few short days ago. Hermione said nothing, but shifted her grip on her wand meaningfully. He turned his eyes to the piece of wood she held so threateningly in his direction.

"You going to try to curse me?" he sneered.

"In about two seconds if you don't move it," she said coolly. His lips tightened, but he walked out of the room anyway. Hermione followed just behind him, her knuckles white against the wand in case he tried to snatch it from her.

He descended the first short flight with exaggerated slowness. Hermione resisted the urge to let a Stinging Hex fly at him in a place that would be most uncomfortable.

"Any time this year, Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth. She caught a glimpse of a smirk on his face as he crossed before the dusty mirror.

Without warning he stopped dead. Hermione collided with him. Opening her mouth to snap at him, she saw a look of shock and horror spread across his face. He reached up his hand and traced it through his hair.

"What the hell happened to my hair?" he said in a breathless whisper that ended in a squeak.

Biting back a giggle, Hermione asked him, "Didn't you know?"

"What do you _think_, Granger?" He stepped backwards, the familiar sneer returning to his face after the initial shock. "While getting my memory wiped, captured by enemies, locked in a room and starved, I wasn't exactly worried about my hair changing colour!"

"I meant did you know how it happened in the first place!" Hermione snapped. He glanced at her for a moment; she could see his grey eyes weighing her up and finding her lacking.

"None of your business, Mudblood," he said contemptuously.

Quick as a flash, Hermione raised his wand and jabbed it towards his face. Malfoy jerked backwards.

"I have had it up to here!" she snarled, snapping her fingers at eye level. "In the last two days I have been insulted, almost collapsed from tiredness, fought with my best friend, been attacked by Death Eaters and my worst enemy ki—" She stopped just before her mouth could run away with her. She felt the colour rising in her cheeks as Malfoy eyed her curiously.

"Just get down the stairs!" she snapped. Without a word he turned and walked down the stairs. Hermione followed more slowly. _I can't believe I almost said that; oh God, what if he guesses? Oh, I'm such an idiot!_.

She took a deep breath. _Just a few more days,_ she told herself. _Put up with him and these strange feelings for a little while longer, then you'll be off hunting Horcruxes and forget all about him._

Little did she suspect how very wrong she would be.


End file.
